White Roses
by EriksOneVoice
Summary: The happenings and the relationship between Erikand Madame Giry after she brought him to live at the opera house. Butenter a certain M. Giry and things get sticky.
1. The Devil's Child

White Roses

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Phantom of the Opera. Just in case anyone was thinking of suing me._

_Author's note: Based mostly on the ideas from the ALW movie. T to be safe._

_Author's note again: Wow! I've had this account since **January**, and I'm finally posting my first phic! Alex is no longer just a reviewer:happy dance:_

**The Devil's Child**

The young boy cowered in the corner of the cage. The scene outside was gaudy, thrilling and cheerful, but in this tent, it was anything but. There was nothing inside but the rusty bars of the cage and the dusty stool where the gypsy sat as he counted his earnings for the day. Inside the cage lived one of the 'human oddities' the travelling fair was famous for. The boy hated that name.

Slowly, he tied off the thread he had used to make another crude plaything, although he knew that the gypsy would confiscate it sooner or later. The joyful music blared outside, taunting the boy. He wanted nothing more than to be part of a normal world where he could walk among others without the inevitable stares. All he wanted was to be, well, human.

"Come, come inside! Come and see the devil's child!"

The raspy voice of the gypsy awoke the boy from his stupor. He shuddered as the crowd poured in - mostly made up of chattering girls. How he wished he could be like them! So carefree ... enjoying life ... Shuddering, his long fingers pulled the burlap sack further over his face, fruitlessly hoping that he would be spared the cruel humiliation he knew he was about to be subjected to.

Sure enough, the brutal hand with its grimy residue wrenched the sack away from the boy with no apparent effort. Frantically, the boy tried to cover his marred face, but it was too late. The crowd had seen. Half of the boy's face appeared normal, but the other half was not the face of a human. The flesh was twisted, contorted, bubbling, distorting his face into something unrecognisable. As he still attempted to hide from the crowd, his fingers traced over the deformity, hating every imperfection, furious that he could do nothing to tame it but wear the unsightly sack. His ears burned with the sound of the crowd's laughter. How could they be so callous? Spurred on by their shouts, the gypsy grasped a stick lying on the ground and advanced on the boy. Slowly, he raised it before raining down stroke after stroke on the boy's already bruised body. Angry tears filled the boy's eyes as the crowd laughed harder. One man even spat on him. Desperately, the boy scanned the crowd, mismatched eyes pleading for help. But all he saw were the shallow faces, still laughing at his misfortune ... except for one girl.

This girl did not laugh. While the other young children jostled around her, each pushing for another glimpse at his face, she simply stared in ... pity? The boy did not know - the only emotions ever directed towards him had been anger and scorn. After what seemed like an eternity, the gypsy backed away and the crowd began to disperse. Limbs burning from the beating, the boy shamefully reached for the sack again, hiding himself from the world once more. He winced as he felt an old scar open once again and the blood trickle slowly down his back. Looking up at the gypsy, the boy felt a sense of pure hatred. The man was greedily counting the coins the crowd had paid him, laughing under his breath. Breathing heavily, the boy reached for one of the ropes littering the floor. He fashioned it into a noose, fantasising about the satisfaction he would gain from seeing his oppressor lifeless beneath him.

The boy didn't know why he was thinking this way now; he had been part of the fair for years - or so he assumed. Nobody had ever told him. He didn't know his family ... how old he was ... he didn't even know his own name. All he remembered of his life before the gypsies were a few nights in an orphanage.

_"Come, you naughty boy! You must take that sack off your head!"_

_The boy had shaken his head frantically. He wasn't sure why he wore it, but whenever some meddlesome person removed it, he was met by screams of terror and cruel taunts from the other children._

_"Now! We are eating - how can you eat like that?"_

_"No!'_

_The nun had sighed in frustration and yanked the sack away. The boy wouldn't easily forget what happened next. In the rare moments he slept, he could still see her eyes bulge and her mouth open wide in shock. But what cut him up inside were her words._

_"The child is a monster! His poor mother - I would have died of horror! A monster, I say - a child of Satan himself!"_

_That night, the boy had crept out of bed and made his way to the bathroom at the end of the dormitory. With some difficulty, he sat himself on the counter-top and removed the sack from his head once again. Slowly turning around, he gazed at his own reflection for the first time._

_Now he knew why he was different. Tears welling in his young eyes, small hand hesitantly touching his infected face, he understood._

_"I'm a monster ..."_

Scowling, the boy raised his head with an air of crazed determination. _Monsters are not bound by the same code of behaviour as humans,_ he thought. With an accuracy that surprised even himself, the boy reached through the bars of the cage and looped the rope around the gypsy's neck and pulled it tight. He felt a morbid pleasure as the man gasped, choking under the boy's trap. The man struggled, and yet the boy held on, not letting the rope slack until the gypsy slumped over - dead. The boy was a murderer.

He gave the corpse a look of disgust before raising his head to survey the tent. It would not take long for the rest of the gypsies to find out what had happened. Suddenly, he heard a small gasp. He snapped his head around to see her - the girl with the kind eyes - still lurking by the door. The boy stood, frozen. She had obviously seen the whole, gruesome spectacle. He expected her to run, screaming from the tent, but instead she hurried over to the gypsy's body and slipped the key to the boy's cage off his belt. The lock was stubborn but she managed to turn it eventually, grabbing the boy's wrist forcefully and leading him away from it all. The boy was in too much shock to register where she was taking him.

She led him through the alleyways and secret roads that snaked through the Parisian streets. Discretion was important; people would surely question the presence of two young children - especially as one was wearing nought but a sack and a pair of trousers. By the time the boy began feeling dizzy from too many tight turns, the girl stopped. The boy looked up at the grand structure he was standing at the base of - the Opera Populaire. He could not marvel for long, though, as the girl ushered him into the opera house via a hidden door. The boy began to make his way through a series of dead ends before emerging into the opera's chapel. She joined him soon after, taking his hand again and leading him deeper into the opera house.

Stumbling slightly behind her, his vision blurred by the sack, the boy followed his saviour down seemingly endless stairs. One hundred ... two hundred ... eventually he stopped counting and simply allowed her hand to guide him further and further into the bowels of the opera house, knowing that no matter where she led him, it could not possibly be worse than the hell from which he had just left. He felt no guilt over the gypsy's death - he was completely justified in his mind. But, as yet, he could not say the same for the girl. He was still confused as to why she had helped him escape - all he knew about her was that she was the one person who didn't seem to be absolutely terrified of his face.

Finally, the girl stopped and turned around to face him. The boy shifted the sack so he could see through its eye-holes and took in his new surroundings. The passageway was lit by a few weakly burning torches that threw strange shadows on the grey stone walls. Looking up, the boy could see the spiraling staircase that they had just descended and looking ahead, he could see black water lapping at the floor.

"Are you alright?"

The boy tore his eyes from the flooded tunnel and looked back at the girl. She was chewing her bottom lip nervously, her dark eyes flitting around as if afraid that somebody had followed them. The boy wasn't sure how to respond - nobody had ever been concerned about him before. The girl, however, appeared to take his silence for surliness instead of uncertainty.

"I'm sorry," she said, flustered. "That was a silly question. Of course you're not alright."

The boy nodded slowly. "Why did you want to help me?" he murmured.

"I couldn't stand it," the girl replied quietly. "Everybody was being so heartless."

"But ... I'm a monster!"

"No!"

The boy started as the girl pulled herself up to her full height. Hands on hips, she looked down at him in indignation.

"You're not a monster," she said, bristling. "You're just ... different. That's all. You didn't deserve that. Nobody does."

Again, the boy found himself lost for words. Again, he was lost as to the girl's actions. _Why is she treating me like this? Why is she not running away in fear?_

He laughed bitterly. "Don't I scare you?"

"No," she replied simply, to the boy's surprise.

"Why?"

"I don't know." The girl sighed and let her eyes wander for a few moments before turning matter-of-fact. "You can stay down here, if you would like to. I can bring you parcels of food and other things you need. Nobody will find you here."

"Are you sure?"

"Or I could take you back to the gypsies. Whichever you like."

The girl raised an eyebrow as the boy shook his head. He blushed and was thankful that the sack hid his burning cheeks.

"Don't make me go back ..."

"I was joking. I would never let you go back to those horrible people," she said, laughing.

The boy smiled. "Thank you."

"Not at all, uh ..." The girl paused for a second. "What is your name?"

"I don't know," he replied hesitantly. Again, that expression came over her eyes - that foreign emotion that the boy could not place.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he asked.

"I - I don't know." She gave a small smile. "But you must have a name. I cannot call you 'boy', now, can I?"

"I suppose not."

"What names do you like? Jacques?"

"No."

"If you insist. How about Gaston?"

"No."

"Fine, then. Perhaps Raoul?"

"Raoul? That sounds like a poodle!"

The girl sighed in frustration. "Well, do you have any suggestions?"

The boy paused for a moment. "Erik."

"Erik?"

"Yes."

"Very well, then," the girl said. "I'll bring you some leftovers from supper tonight, Erik."

She turned to leave, but then looked back. "By the way, my name is Antoinette. Antoinette Baudeux."

"Good-bye, then, Antoinette," Erik said. "And thank you."

"Not at all, Erik."

Erik watched Antoinette scurry back up the staircase, leaving him alone in the darkness. He turned again to survey his new home. Cautiously he tested the water with his toes; it was freezing cold. Gritting his teeth, Erik waded forward, discovering it barely reached his waist. For hours he explored the catacombs, memorising their labyrinth-like pattern. Eventually he happened upon a rusty half-raised portcullis. Curious, he looked beyond it to find - finally - a dry piece of floor. Upon further exploration, Erik discovered several small adjoining rooms. He smiled and looked around the area critically, noting what could be improved to make it fit for living. Antoinette could help him. _Thank God for Antoinette,_ he thought. In actual fact, he had long ago decided that no kind and benevolent god would place such a horrible curse upon him regardless of what the nuns at the orphanage had told him. _Even if there is no God_, Erik thought, _at least there are angels_.

_Author's note again again: Does anybody know Madame Giry's first name? I just picked Antoinette because I though it fit her for some reason. :shrugs:_


	2. Angels and Music

White Roses

_Disclaimer: The only time I own any of this is when I am asleep and dead to the world. Life is so unfair._

**Angels and Music**

Erik returned to the foot of the staircase the next morning to find a small parcel of cold meat, a hunk of bread and a flask of water. Hungrily, he devoured the meal and took a swig of water, hardly daring to believe that he was free of the hell of his life with the gypsies. As he picked up the bread, Erik noticed a scrap of paper with a message written in a small, tidy script.

_Erik_, the note read, _I know that this meal is frugal but it was the best I could do. I trust that you are faring better now and I am sure that I do not need to remind you to keep yourself hidden. Take care. Love, Antoinette._

Smiling, Erik pocketed the note. Although he was young, he had read it easily; he had always been something of a prodigy and though he had not read anything since leaving the orphanage, the knowledge had resurfaced quickly. He waded through the tunnel again, back to his spartan home. Erik stored the flask in a corner of the area, before deciding that he could not leave the matter of his empty 'lair', if one could call it that, any longer. He had spent most of the night searching the catacombs for any building materials or discarded trinkets, but to his disappointment, had not found anything. It was therefore necessary for him to venture up into the main opera house to obtain the supplies he needed. Erik wrinkled his nose as he plunged into the icy water again. _A boat would not go astray,_ he thought, and deciding that that would be his first project.

He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the top of the stairs, before realising that he had no idea where to go. Trying to decide which way to turn, he heard voices. Erik shrunk into the shadows and resolved to follow them. The two men were a little uncouth and shabbily dressed, but Erik was in no position to judge based on outward appearances. Keeping himself out of sight, he followed his unknowing guides through the opera house, painting a mental picture of it that he would be able to navigate through it himself eventually.

The men made their way into the flies of the opera house above the stage. Erik frowned as he took in his new surroundings; he had never seen anything like this. It was beautiful. His eyes widened behind the sack as he took in the rows of red velvet seats, the detailed gold gilding, the majestic chandelier and, above all, the stage. Elaborately dressed men and women scurried across it and they were soon joined by a group of young girls. Erik's eyes widened more as he recognised Antoinette amongst the group of girls, but his gaze hardened as he took in the rest of the faces and realised that they were the same group that had ridiculed him but yesterday. He resolved that someday he would get his revenge on them, but at that moment, there was the matter of finding building material.

Erik sneaked through the flies, avoiding the stagehands, trying to find any place where suitable building materials might be kept. But then fate stepped in and his search was quite forgotten. His head snapped around as he heard an orchestra begin to play a soft melody and a sweet, soprano voice sing in Italian. It was all new for him. He had never liked music much; he found the loud, blaring, harsh noise that the gypsies called music torture on his ears. But this ... this was different. This music was nothing short of breathtaking. There was no going back at that point. Erik fell in love with opera.

"Hey! What you doing there, boy?"

Erik broke out of his trance as he heard the stagehand's call. Startled, he shrank back into the shadows, hiding. Cursing himself for allowing himself to become so hypnotized, Erik sneaked back through the flies and crouched in a small niche in the wall. He dared not move a muscle should somebody find him; it was not difficult for him to hide, being deprived of good food for so long his figure was almost skeletal. The rehearsal continued for several hours and still Erik remained in his niche, ignoring his cramped limbs' protest - he was used to pain. The music floated up to the flies and he simply allowed it to overpower him, surrendering his soul to the beauty of the melodies.

Eventually, the opera company disbanded and the beautiful music ceased only to be replaced by the noise of a horde of stagehands, singers, dancers and musicians exiting the theatre and chattering. Erik began to follow the crowd, still keeping to the shadows, hoping that soon he would not have to rely on others to navigate around the opera house.

Finally, he found the chapel and was cheered a little as he remembered its position in relation to his hideaway in the catacombs. Making sure that he was still invisible to passers-by, Erik began to sneak through the dim passageway, only to collide with another figure apparently trying to move inconspicuously. The figure let out a cry of surprise and whipped around to face Erik. It was Antoinette.

"Good Lord, Erik, you frightened me half to death!" she said, smiling now.

"Sorry," he muttered, before noticing the bundle she was carrying. "What is that?"

"Food, Erik," she said, as if it should be obvious. "Unless you are a miracle-worker, I cannot imagine how else you would not die of starvation if I did not feed you."

"I suppose."

Erik dropped his eyes, embarrassed. Try as he may, he could not seem to accustom himself to accepting another's kindness. It was simply too new a concept. Antoinette sighed and placed the parcel in his bony hands before bidding him goodnight. She was almost out of earshot when Erik turned around.

"What is it called?"

Antoinette turned to him, frowning. "I beg your pardon?"

"What is it called?"

"No, I heard that," she said, dismissively. "I meant to say, what are you referring to?"

Erik tried to come up with an answer, but found that he could not find words to describe the majesty of the orchestra, the surreal tone of the singing, the power of the melody and the adrenaline of all three combined. Finally he simply shrugged and uttered a single word.

"Music."

Antoinette's frown deepened, but a few seconds later her expression cleared. "Oh! Did you hear the rehearsal today?"

Erik nodded. "I was looking for material to build a boat with ... but then I heard it, and it was just so beautiful ..."

Antoinette smiled as she listened to Erik ramble. She could not see his face, but was certain that underneath the sack, a smile was lighting up his countenance. Finally he stopped praising the rehearsal and turned to her, a picture of helplessness.

"What is it called?"

"Opera, Erik," Antoinette replied. "This is an opera house."

"Opera," he repeated.

"That's right," she said, before adding as an afterthought, "do you like it?"

"Yes," Erik replied. "It is beautiful."

"Wait," Antoinette said, excitedly. "I have an idea. I'll be back soon."

Curious, Erik watched the girl sprint recklessly through the dark passageway and out of sight. He sat down, opened the package she had given him and began to chew on one of the slices of bread and butter. By the time he heard her footsteps returning, Erik had eaten most of the meal, save for a few scraps of chicken. He stood as she approached, much more slowly now, and carrying a bulky object. She smiled as she knelt down and began to open the oddly-shaped case.

"This was my father's, Erik," she said, withdrawing the object inside.

Erik's eyes widened as he saw the magnificent violin. It was obviously quite old, but it appeared that Antoinette took good care of it, as its wood gleamed proudly. She handed it to him and showed him how to position the instrument underneath on his shoulder and how to hold the bow. Slowly, Erik drew the horsehair over one string and a low, rich note rung through the passageway. He tested the other strings and listened carefully as the pitch became higher. Antoinette explained that he could produce more notes by moving his fingers on the neck of the violin. Erik was about to try this, when he realised what Antoinette had said.

"You said that this was your father's instrument."

"Yes, that's right," she said, "but I want you to have it."

"Why? I cannot accept this!"

"Erik, its value to me is merely sentimental. However, in giving it to you, it can make beautiful music again. It's what he would have wanted."

"Do you not play it?"

This made Antoinette giggle. "My strength is in ballet, Erik, not music. I have tried, many times, but I simply cannot play that instrument the way it deserves to be played. The only music is makes when I play can barely be considered music. It's more of a screech, actually."

Erik nodded. "I promise that I will not screech."

Antoinette giggled again. "I most certainly hope not, Erik," she said, in a mock-stern voice. "But now, we both should retire. It is getting late."

Erik carefully placed the violin back in its case. The gift had overwhelmed him; of the few things he had owned, this was by far the most exquisite. He was about to begin his long descent down the winding staircase, when Antoinette turned one last time.

"By the way, if you need a boat, I can help you," she said. "There was a gondola used in a performance here a few months back, but nobody has any use for it now. It should float well and we can easily assemble it again down here tomorrow."

"Thank you," Erik replied. "You know that you are too kind to me."

"Not at all," she said, before disappearing for the last time into the darkness.

Still smiling, Erik slowly made his way down the stairs, carrying his precious cargo close to his body. When he reached the foot of the staircase, he found himself with a bit of a dilemma. He knew that it would be too risky to carry the violin while swimming across the lake. He considered leaving it behind, but could not stand the thought of it being alone like a discarded piece of scrap. Knowing that it was foolish reasoning, but unable to rebut it, Erik decided to remain with his treasure and sleep where he was. _It is no less comfortable than my new home, anyway, _he thought.

But Erik found it impossible to sleep. Instead, he opened the case again and stared at the splendid violin. Almost without knowing what he was doing, Erik lifted it out of the case once more, lifted the bow and began to draw it across the four strings with long, sweeping motions. The fingers of his left hand intuitively danced over the strings as the musician played his music to the empty chamber.

x-x-x-x

Antoinette was barely pulling the covers over her weary body when Lisette, a young ballet rat with a love for gossip, jumped on the end of her bed, almost crushing her feet, already aching from the intense rehearsal earlier.

"Did you hear the news, Antoinette?" Lisette squealed, brushing a blonde hair out of her blue eyes.

"Lisette, I am tired," Antoinette replied, groaning.

"No! Listen!" Lisette insisted, shaking the older girl. "Élodie was passing by the manager's office and she did hear such things! Claire says that Élodie said that she heard Monsieur Durand say that he is thinking very seriously of selling the opera house!"

"That is all very interesting, Lisette, but you know that I do not trust anything that comes from the mouth of you, Élodie or Claire, for that matter."

"You are so cruel to me!" Lisette pouted. "Do you not even want to know who may be our new manager?"

"Very well, I will humour you," Antoinette said, wearily. "Who will our new manager be?"

"A certain Monsieur Marcel Giry," Lisette said, triumphantly, before lowering her voice surreptitiously. "And I heard from Isabelle that Monsieur Giry's son is very, very, _very_ handsome."

"Good night, Lisette."

_Interesting random piece of trivia: If you watch the movie, in the circus flashback scene, a blonde girl is seen pointing and laughing at Erik. According to yours truly, she is now called Lisette. And the dark-haired girl beside her is Élodie._


	3. True Beauty

White Roses

_Disclaimer: Do you think I would be writing phanphiction if I owned any of this genius? Obviously not. Because I don't. Own it, that is._

**True Beauty**

All through the night, Erik played his new violin. The music was addictive; once he played one note, he had to play them all. He was not sure how he instinctively knew how to maneuver his fingers to produce the haunting melodies, but he didn't care. All Erik cared about was the fact that he was happy. The music did not judge him. The music did not run from him in fear. The music embraced him and let him free his spirit in a way that cannot be simply put into words. The music accepted Erik.

x-x-x-x 

After paying a quick visit to the costume department and pinching the sole remaining croissant from the breakfast table, Antoinette began making her way down to Erik's domain. She hummed a slightly off-tune song as she walked further and further away from the light, wondering if Erik was faring well. But as she drew nearer to the foot of the staircase, a beautiful sound began floating up towards her. In curiosity, Antoinette walked a little faster, trying to determine what was making the sound.

Upon reaching the underground chamber, Antoinette stopped and gasped. Erik was sitting in a corner, violin raised and playing an eerie melody that could not help but hypnotise the listener. The musician did not notice his visitor; his eyes were closed in concentration as note after note poured out of the instrument. Antoinette closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her; making her forget everything except the unearthly sound.

x-x-x-x 

Erik drew the bow across the string one last time before opening his eyes. To his surprise, Antoinette was standing before him, eyes closed and a blissful expression on her face. Slowly, her eyes opened, and she stared at him in disbelief.

"Did you play that?"

"Yes."

"It - It is very good," she stammered. "Extremely good."

"Thank you," Erik said, not sure about why she was praising him.

"Did you learn to play before -" she began, before realising what she had almost said. "I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry," Erik replied, softly. "It is not your fault."

The pair stood in an uncomfortable silence before Antoinette remembered her package. She gave the croissant to the boy, who devoured it greedily, before telling him that she had one more gift for him.

"Antoinette," Erik said, "please do not feel as if you must give me things."

"But I want to," she replied, smiling. "I just hope that it fits."

With these words, Antoinette withdrew a white, leather object from her bag and handed it to Erik, who looked at it in bewilderment for a few seconds.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's a mask," she replied. "I hope you realised that I do so dislike talking to you whilst you wear that horrible sack."

Erik felt his cheeks burn as he examined the object. It appeared to have once been a full mask that had been cut; some of the edges were a little rough.

"Did you make this?" he asked Antoinette.

"Not really," she replied, shrugging. "I took a full mask from the costume department because we have so many. Masks are in great demand for the annual Bal Masqué, you see."

"I see."

"Yes," she continued. "So I simply cut the full mask to size. It was not that hard. Like I said, my only concern is that it will not fit."

Erik smiled and lifted his hand to remove the sack from his head, but stopped suddenly. "Antoinette, would you - I mean, could you please - I'm sorry, but I would -"

"Erik."

"Could you turn around, please?"

She sighed sadly, eyes lingering on him for a moment before obeying. When he was satisfied that her back was turned, Erik hesitantly pulled the burlap from his head and for once enjoyed the sensation of the cool air on his cheeks without worrying about the agony across his back to remind him of the shameful state of his face. He lifted the leather mask and carefully fitted it over the right side of his face, tying the strings that Antoinette had obviously added herself to keep it in position. The mask was a little big, but Erik decided that he could live with that.

"Are you finished?"

Erik looked back at Antoinette, still patiently waiting. He felt a little guilty; he had forgotten all about her.

"Yes," he replied. "You can turn around now."

She did so, and walked up to the boy, glancing critically at her handiwork. "It's too big."

"That is not a problem."

"Are you sure? I can try and find a smaller mask."

"Antoinette, please do not trouble yourself."

"It is no trouble for me."

"No," Erik said, firmly. "The mask is perfectly comfortable."

"If you are sure, then I suppose -"

"I am sure."

Antoinette smiled at his stubbornness and traced his left jaw with a white finger. "You really are quite handsome, Erik."

Erik blushed at the statement and Antoinette giggled. He knocked her hand out of the way and covered his burning left cheek, cursing himself for forgetting that the absence of the sack made his every emotion quite clear.

"I am not," Erik said, defensively.

"You are," she insisted. "Everybody had physical flaws."

"Not everybody has a face that looks like hell destroyed it."

"Not everybody can pick up a violin and master it overnight."

"I still maintain that -"

Erik broke off. He had been ready to fire back a retort, but Antoinette's statement had caught him off-guard.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything, Erik," she said, simply.

"No, it doesn't."

"It does!" Antoinette stamped a foot indignantly. "Do you not see? Not all beauty can be seen."

Erik laughed bitterly. "The beauty that matters is visible."

The girl rolled her eyes and sighed in frustration. "You are too much at times. Tell me, what do you think about music?"

Erik's eyes glazed over as he told her. Every emotion that passed through him as he listened to music or played his instrument, he told her. Antoinette did not interrupt him, simply standing, nodding and allowing him to rant. Eventually he stopped and looked at her, embarrassed at how he had rambled on. But Antoinette did not look irritated, merely satisfied.

"I take it that you believe that music is beautiful, Erik," she stated.

"Yes," he replied, hesitantly.

"And it matters to you?"

"Yes."

"Then you agree that music is beauty that matters?" she said, triumphantly.

Erik stared at her, mouth open. _She's right,_ he thought. However, all too soon another, stronger thought hit him and he frowned.

"But that does not mean that people still will not run away from me and be afraid."

Antoinette paused for a moment, and Erik felt a grim sort of triumph that he had disproved her theory, despite the fact that it did him no favours.

"Erik," she said finally, "why am I standing here?"

Erik had not expected such a philosophical question from the young ballerina and simply shrugged. "I don't know."

"I'll tell you why," she said, smiling. "I do not fear you or think any less of you because I looked past the obvious. There is more to you that meets the eye, Erik. You have a beautiful soul. And that is the beauty that matters to me."

"Antoinette, I ..." Words failed Erik as he met the girl's eyes. He did not see any pity in them this time, nor fear, hatred or sorrow. All he saw were kindness and honesty.

"Oh!" Antoinette suddenly clapped a hand to her forehead. "I must leave or I will be late for rehearsal!"

"Very well, then," Erik replied. "Good-bye, then."

"Good-bye, Erik," Antoinette said. "I will come back later and help you move the gondola, if you like."

Erik nodded. "Thank you, Antoinette."

"Not at all." With these words, Antoinette leant forward and quickly kissed Erik's unmasked cheek softly. "Good-bye, then."

Erik watched her scurry up the stairs. He could not seem to come up with any coherent words or thoughts and simply raised his left hand to his cheek where she had kissed him. _What was that for?_ he wondered. Slowly, Erik sat down on the bottom stair and simply remained there, trying to make sense of the situation.

x-x-x-x 

Panting from her long ascent, Antoinette hurriedly joined the rest of the corps de ballet at the rehearsal and began to warm up. As she moved through the set of stretches, she absently noticed the strict ballet mistress, an elderly widow named Madame Leblanc, talking to Amandine Vereneux, the most talented dancer in the opera house. Antoinette sighed as she watched Madame Leblanc shake her head and alter the position of Amandine's arm as the ballerina demonstrated a demi-plié. Antoinette wanted nothing more than to be the one in the spotlight and hear the applause after her solo, but she knew that as long as the older, more experienced and prettier girl was there, she had no chance. Amandine was simply too perfect.

The rehearsal was uneventful, but tiring all the same. As the dancers began to cool down, Amandine remained dancing; she always insisted on perfection when she danced solo, perhaps even more so than Madame Leblanc. Antoinette was half-listening to Lisette and a few other girls tell a scandalous story about Isabelle, a rather promiscuous ballet rat, when she felt a hand slap her across the back of the head. She heard Amandine's voice behind her.

"Oh, Lisette, I'm so sorry! Such a clumsy pirouette! Did I hurt -" Antoinette turned around and the older girl's expression changed from one of concern to one of disdain. "Oh, it's you."

With that, Amandine flicked her dark curls and flounced back to Madame Leblanc, leaving Antoinette with a throbbing temple and a sense of great indignation. Amandine was perfectly friendly to most of the dancers, but had taken a sudden dislike to Antoinette. It had begun the night after they had all visited the gypsy fair.

_"Oh, no, I thought that contortionist was incredible!"_

_"Really? You didn't find it a little gruesome?"_

_"Not at all! I wonder if I could do that - let me try!"_

_With that, little Madeleine was lying on her stomach on the floor of the dormitories, legs bent back, nearly touching her jet black hair. Spurred on by the applause and cheers of the other dancers, the tiny girl attempted position after position until finally Amandine entered the room._

_"Madeleine! Whatever are you doing? Stop it now or you will hurt yourself!" she cried. "Madame would be none too pleased if you sprained an ankle."_

_Grudgingly, the younger girl returned to her bed, explaining what she had been doing. Amandine gave a cheeky smile._

_"Do you know what I liked best?" she asked. "I liked the Devil's Child!"_

_"Oh, yes!"_

_"He was horrible!"_

_Amandine began squeezing and twisting the skin of her right cheek, screwing up her right eye and letting out mocking cries. This display was met by much enthusiasm from the other girls, and loud squealing and giggling ensued._

_"Stop that!"_

_Everybody turned to look at Antoinette, standing defiantly on her bed and shooting Amandine a fiery glare._

_"What did you say to me?"_

_"I said stop that!" the younger girl cried, incensed. "It's so cruel!"_

_"Calm yourself, Antoinette," said Isabelle, patronisingly. "It's just a bit of fun."_

_"Fun at somebody else's expense! It is not his fault he looks like that!"_

_"Antoinette, it is not as if he hears us."_

_"That still does not make it right! And besides, you all laughed openly today! Did you not see how scared he looked?"_

_Amandine stood, walked over to the angry girl, and yanked her arm so that she sat down. "Your heart is soft, Antoinette, but you must learn not to take everything so seriously."_

_"Perhaps if you lived like that for a day you would think differently, you savage beast!"_

_A collective gasp came from the ballet dormitories. Nobody ever spoke to Amandine that way._

x-x-x-x 

Finally, Erik moved from his seat and opened the violin case again. Once more he played his resplendent music, but this time it was not for him. This time, the music was for Antoinette.

_Now ... drum roll, please ... reviwer replies!_

_**Immokk** - my first reviewer:) Glad you like the length as most of the chapters will be this long. As for the Raoul bit ... a random thought that I now look back on with affection. At least somebody found it funny!_

_**Acantha Mardivey**, thanks for the verification of the name. Call it intuition ;) Good to know that you're enjoying it. When you say that some things don't fit ... could you elabourate as I'm not sure exactly what you mean. They might make sense later in the phic ... or they might not. It's a bit hard for me if I don't know what you mean, exactly ;)_

_**sixkulps**, thanks for stopping by. Glad you like it - hope you enjoy the rest!_

_**amycad**, thanks for reading and your review. Good luck with your own fanfic!_

_**Baby-Vixen**, I'm not worried, so don't you worry! I've been called weirder ... like 'little kettle', for instance o.O Well, I'm carrying on full steam ahead, so stay tuned!_

_**Malena**, thanks for your lovely review. I'll try and post a new chapter every three days, so I won't keep you hanging for too long ;)_


	4. Turning Heads

White Roses

_Disclaimer: You know what? I kidnapped the ownership to this and it is now mine. Unfortunately, that happened only in my mind. 'Tis very sad. It's not mine!_

**Turning Heads**

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, Erik adjusted to life at the opera house. He could find his way around quite easily and at times managed to steal food for himself from the kitchen. Antoinette still visited him regularly and together, they had made his domain more habitable. The gondola was working well, and the two of them had managed to take some other old props and use their parts to make a bed, some chairs and a table. They had raided the costume department and found a few discarded costumes suitable for Erik, although Antoinette did find it quite amusing to see the young boy dressed in full evening wear. Erik continued to play the violin by night, always for Antoinette, although he never told her this.

One morning, Erik awoke to hear the bell across the lake ringing loudly. He had told Antoinette that should she wish to cross the lake in the gondola, she need only ring the bell and he would come and fetch her. He picked up the pole for the boat and began to expertly guide it through the catacombs. It had become much easier for him to pole the gondola as time went on, and he reached the girl on the other side quickly. But this morning, she was not her usual picture of composure. Instead, her eyes were bright with excitement and she was almost jumping up and down with impatience as Erik approached her on the gondola.

"Oh, Erik!" she cried. "You will never guess what I have found!"

"I probably won't," he replied. "You shall have to tell me."

"An organ, Erik! A real pipe organ!"

"Where?"

"It is in an old storeroom," Antoinette replied. "I was looking for my costume and I stumbled upon it. My first thought was that you might like it."

Erik stared at her. "How do you suggest we move a pipe organ in here?"

"Well, it would have to be done slowly," she said. "Bit by bit."

"Like the gondola?"

"Yes, but on a larger scale, of course."

Erik frowned as he mulled over this, but eventually his face split into a grin. "That sounds like a good project. When shall we start?"

"We have rehearsals this morning, but Madame has given us the afternoon off," Antoinette replied. "Perhaps at one o'clock?"

Erik nodded, but before he could say anything, Antoinette was obliged to leave so as not to be late to rehearsal. She had been in trouble more than once for tardiness since she had begun visiting Erik so he did not ask her to stay, simply watching her shadow ascend the great staircase.

As he reached the shore of his lair, Erik carefully moored the gondola and stood the pole against a wall. He then opened a drawer of a mahogany chest of drawers stolen from Amandine's dressing room and withdrew a large sheet of heavy paper with an almost-finished charcoal drawing on it. Erik had been working on the portrait as a gift for Antoinette - it was her likeness that he had tried to hard to capture. He estimated that he would have it finished in less than an hour and would be able to present it to her when she visited him that afternoon. Erik laid the paper on the table, picked up the piece of charcoal he had been using, and began to complete his artwork.

x-x-x-x

Antoinette was moving away from the barre and towards the stage when two men, one much younger than the other, entered with the manager, Monsieur Durand. The trio sat in the centre of the theatre, half-watching the rehearsal while Monsieur Durand and the older gentleman made conversation. Trying to ignore the newcomers, Antoinette fell into the routine the corps de ballet had nearly perfected, keeping in time with the steady thud of Madame Leblanc's cane on the stage. The dancers repeated the movements over and over again until their muscles were aching from the effort. Throughout the display, the younger gentleman had watched intently and Antoinette fancied that at times he had tried to catch her eye.

"Very good, my dears," Madame Leblanc called eventually. "You may begin to cool down now."

Antoinette gratefully began to stretch her throbbing calf muscles, while taking a nervous glance at the clock. It was half-past twelve; she would have just enough time to cool down, change her clothes and eat a quick lunch before helping Erik move the pipe organ. Sighing, she extended her other leg and continued her stretches, listening as the soprano and the tenor began to sing their duet.

By the time Antoinette was ready to leave, the two singers were about to begin their third rendition, but were interrupted as Monsieur Durand stood and began to walk towards the stage, accompanied by the two men.

"If I could beg your attention for a few minutes, everybody," he called. "I would like to inform you of some imminent changes in the opera house."

At the sound of the manager's voice, every head turned to centre stage, where the man stood now. Even Lisette and her group of ballet rats stopped gossiping long enough to pay attention.

"Thank you," Monsieur Durand said. "As you may or may not know, I have decided to travel abroad, and therefore the Opera Populaire will be changing hands shortly. Allow me to introduce to you the new manager-to-be, Monsieur Marcel Giry."

There was polite applause as the older gentleman smiled at the surrounding people. "I would like to say that I am very much looking forward to working with people such as yourselves in this wonderful opera house."

This statement was met with more applause before Monsieur Durand spoke again. "Also, allow me to introduce Monsieur Giry's son, Lucas, who will also be a familiar face in the near future."

The younger man smiled like his father and Antoinette was able to get her first good look at him. She had to admit that Lisette had been right - he was very handsome. Lucas Giry was tall with dark blonde hair and a thin moustache. His blue eyes were kind and his smile was genuine. Antoinette found herself quite liking this young man on first impression in spite of herself. She looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes as she noticed Isabelle and Lisette pouting and twirling strands of their hair in the general direction of the two Giry men. _Typical_, she thought.

x-x-x-x

Erik smiled at the finished portrait and placed it back in the drawer. He looked at the alarm clock taken from a bedside table in the ballet dormitories and frowned when he realised that Antoinette was ten minutes late. It is not like her to be late, he thought. He knew that she might be tardy for ballet rehearsals or late to meals, but she was always punctual when it came to visiting Erik.

Sighing, he decided not to think too much of it and wait a little longer. _She is probably held up at the rehearsal._

x-x-x-x

Antoinette was about to leave the theatre when a hand tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around in surprise only to be met by the sheepish smile of Lucas Giry.

"Hello," he said. "I was watching you dance just now."

"Yes," replied Antoinette, "I saw you."

"Yes. Well, I was hoping - I mean to say, I would like it very much if you could show me around, perhaps? I take it that you know the opera house well?"

"I do, monsieur."

"Call me Lucas, please, Mademoiselle ... uh ... Mademoiselle?"

"Antoinette Baudeux, Lucas."

"Antoinette. A pretty name for a -"

"Pretty girl? You are too kind, Lucas."

"No. A pretty name for a beautiful young lady."

Antoinette narrowed her eyes skeptically, wondering why any young man would compliment her so. _If he wants a ballet rat to mess around with, he picked the wrong one,_ she reminded herself. She looked into his face once more, and saw nothing but honesty. Looking over her shoulder, Antoinette saw Lisette gaping at her. She shuddered to think what the imaginative girl would make of the situation.

"So do you mind, then, Antoinette?"

"I'm sorry?" Antoinette asked, having been preoccupied with watching Lisette tap her best friend, Élodie, on the shoulder and whisper in her ear.

"Would you please do me the favour of showing me around? Perhaps we could have a quick lunch together, first?"

Antoinette bit her lip. She knew that she was already late in going down to see Erik and showing Lucas around would definitely delay their meeting. _But_, she reminded herself, _this young man is probably in need of acquaintance. It cannot be that interesting to sit by and listen to his father and Monsieur Durand talk business._ Before she quite knew what she was saying, her reply slipped out.

"Of course, Lucas."

x-x-x-x

Erik paced around his lair impatiently. It was nearing seven o'clock and Antoinette was yet to come. He had made up many excuses for her absence, each weaker than the last, and was now considering going upstairs and searching her out himself. Finally, he heard the bell ringing across the lake and he began his journey across the lake, poling the gondola furiously. As he reached the other side, he noticed that Antoinette looked different. Her face was flushed and she was wearing a broad smile.

"Good evening, Antoinette," Erik said, pointedly.

"Good evening, Erik," she replied, seemingly oblivious to his tone as she climbed into the gondola.

A little confused at her lack of attention, Erik poled her back across the lake unquestioningly. They reached the shore and he helped her out of the boat and waited for her to tell him where the storeroom with the pipe organ was located. But Antoinette did nothing of the sort, simply sitting down in one of the chairs and beaming.

"Did you want a cover of darkness?" Erik asked her. "If you did you should have said so this morning."

"I'm sorry?" Antoinette replied, before comprehension dawned on her face and she blushed. "Oh, that. I'm sorry, Erik, but we might have to wait until tomorrow."

"Why?"

"I am exhausted!"

"Your rehearsal finished at more than six hours ago!" Erik said, angrily.

"I was showing the new manager's son around," Antoinette explained. "He really is a very nice young man."

Erik paused, not sure what to make of this. Finally, he sighed and nodded.

"It is alright, Antoinette."

"Thank you for understanding, Erik," she said, giving him a shy smile.

Erik smiled back and turned to the chest of drawers. "I have a present for you."

"For me? What is it?"

"It's a surprise. Close your eyes."

Antoinette did so and Erik, after making sure that they were truly closed, took out the portrait. Thinking quickly, he took a white rose from a vase - more items he had 'borrowed' from Amandine - and placed it in the centre of the rolled-up piece of paper.

"Open," he said, holding the artwork and flower out to her.

Antoinette took the gift and slowly unrolled the portrait, exclaiming in delight as the rose fell at her feet. "Oh! I love roses!"

Erik simply smiled back and indicated for her to go on unrolling. She did so and her face lit up as she took in the portrait. Eyes wide, she traced the lines of her jaw, lips and hair, marvelling in the boy's incredible artistic ability.

"Do you like it?" he asked nervously.

"Erik, I love it!" she exclaimed. "It is exquisite! Did you draw this?"

He nodded and her smile became wider. Antoinette rose from her seat and pecked Erik's cheek again before rolling up the portrait and letting her gaze fall to the gondola.

"I have to go back," she said, reluctantly. "They'll wonder where I am in the dormitory."

Erik nodded and the two of them boarded the vessel in silence and began their journey across the lake.

x-x-x-x

As Antoinette entered the ballet dormitory, portrait concealed behind her back, she was met by a horde of her fellow dancers, all asking questions based on the allegation that she had spent the afternoon in the company of Lucas Giry.

"Antoinette! Did you really go out for lunch together?"

"Did he hold your hand up on the roof?"

"Is it true that you kissed him?"

"I - I -" Antoinette was overwhelmed by the sudden interrogation. While the kissing version of the afternoon's events was nothing more than a rumour, she blushed when she realised that most of the other stories were true.

"Oh! She's blushing!"

"You are lucky, Antoinette. He is so handsome!"

"What's that in your hand?"

Isabelle plucked the rose Erik had given Antoinette from her hand and held it up for the dormitory to see.

"Isabelle!"

"It's a rose! He loves her!"

It took several hours and more than one stern word from Madame Leblanc, who slept across the hall from the dormitory, for the hubbub to die down. Antoinette lay awake for what seemed like hours, wondering about what all this meant. She had never been in love with anybody before; how was she to know what it was like? Sighing, she turned over and listened as eerie violin music crept up through the cracks in the dormitory floorboards.


	5. Comeuppance

White Roses

_Disclaimer: I'm running out of interesting (coughcough) disclaimers. So, none of this is mine. Zip, zilch, nil, nada, zero._

**Comeuppance**

Erik groaned in effort as he lugged the last piece of the pipe organ from the gondola. Antoinette had not helped him as much as she had promised, so Erik was relegated to do most of the work himself in moving the massive instrument. As soon as he learnt how to play it, Erik intended to compose a piece for Antoinette. As their friendship grew stronger, Erik found himself looking forward to their brief moments together more than anything. He felt some sort of connection with the young ballerina; from time to time their eyes would meet, she would give him that shy smile of hers, and his heart seemed to beat that little bit louder.

Sighing as he looked at the scattered pieces of pipe organ littering the floor, Erik began to fit them together again. The pipes he had already installed several days ago with Antoinette's help and now all that was left to do was to assemble the body of the instrument. He hoped to finish the task before Antoinette came; she had expressed a desire to hear what he had been playing on the violin recently, and Erik had gladly taken the hint and invited her to come and listen during her lunch break.

x-x-x-x

Antoinette glanced at the backstage clock for what seemed like the hundredth time. The ballet rehearsal was progressing infuriatingly slowly and she was very much looking forward to visiting Erik again. _He's a strange one,_ she thought affectionately. His enthusiasm for his music was childlike and would be adorable was he not so accomplished or his music so mature for one so young. Nevertheless, Antoinette enjoyed his company and it was obvious that Erik took pleasure in the novelty of having such a close acquaintance. However, she had not been visiting him as regularly ever since meeting Lucas; Antoinette and the new manager's son had formed a close bond and she spent much of her spare time with him, much to the delight of the gossips in the ballet dormitories.

Finally, Madame Leblanc dismissed the dancers and Antoinette eagerly got ready to leave. She was about to exit through the stage door when she felt a familiar tap on the shoulder.

"Luc," she said without even turning around.

"You do learn quickly, Antoinette," Lucas replied, smiling.

"You make it easy for me," Antoinette replied. "Your consistency is unfailing."

Lucas grinned. "How would you like to join me for lunch? If you like, we could go to that little café over the road."

Antoinette sneaked another glance at the clock, wondering how far she could push her luck before Erik noticed her tardiness. He had become quite touchy about the issue recently as her lack of punctuality became more and more noticeable.

"Why not eat from the opera's restaurant as usual?" she suggested, hoping that the compromise would buy her time.

"Because you are too special," Lucas replied, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Come, you will be back in plenty of time for the afternoon rehearsal."

Antoinette shifted her weight uncomfortably, knowing that she should decline Lucas's offer, but also knowing that she could not come up with a reasonable excuse on the spot that did not involve Erik. She had never been a good liar. Reluctantly, she nodded, pasting a smile on her face and allowing Lucas to take her hand in his. _Please understand, Erik, _she thought.

x-x-x-x

Erik glared at the alarm clock, trying to resist the urge to hurl it across the room. Instead, he returned to the completely assembled pipe organ and played a series of angry chords. Antoinette was late again, despite promising Erik that she would be punctual. He knew that her afternoon rehearsals began in less than fifteen minutes, and had resigned himself to the fact that she probably would not show up. It was always hard on him when Antoinette did not pay a promised visit; she was the only person Erik had ever been able to trust, and in moments of self-doubt he sometimes wondered if she took him for granted, knowing that he had no choice but to remain in his underground chamber.

_Or do I?_ Erik suddenly thought. _Why do I restrict myself to lurking down here in the dark and waiting for her?_ With that thought, Erik made up his mind. He would go and look for Antoinette and catch her before her rehearsal started. There was no reason why he couldn't; he was adept at hiding himself. Donning a large, black cape he had taken from the costume department, Erik boarded the gondola and set out to find Antoinette.

By the time he reached the top of the winding staircase, Erik found himself quite out of breath. He took a few brief moments to recuperate before shrinking into the shadows in the narrow passageways and sneaking into the flies. He found his way there with no trouble, but left immediately upon noting that the afternoon rehearsals appeared to be running far behind schedule; the soprano was in a state of panic upon finding herself hoarse that morning and had dealt with the stress by running into the arms of Marcel Giry, who seemed quite bewildered by the whole ordeal. Erik, on the other hand, found it rather amusing.

However, Erik was not there to watch a melodramatic opera singer throw a tantrum - he was there to find Antoinette. Twirling his cape for effect, he delved deeper into the opera house, heading for the ballet dormitories. Erik made his way through the corridors unhindered and gradually began to relax and was soon running freely, not bothering to stay inconspicuous. It was because of this that he did not see little Madeleine coming around the corner and therefore ran straight into her, knocking both of them to the ground.

Erik was back on his feet before Madeleine and, cursing himself for his carelessness, quickly shrank back into the dimly lighted corner. Madeleine slowly stood up, brushing herself off irritably, but before she could continue on her way, an object caught her eye. Erik clapped a hand to the right side of his face as the tiny dancer bent down and picked up the leather mask, small nose wrinkled in confusion. _It must have slipped off when we fell,_ Erik thought. _Why did I not ask Antoinette to find a smaller mask?_ Erik quickly considered his options, but decided almost immediately that he did need his mask back as his sack had long since disappeared.

Taking a deep breath, Erik pulled himself up to his full height and advanced on the girl, still covering his deformity with one hand. Madeleine's eyes widened in fear as she cowered under the him; although he was but a boy, her own diminutive height made Erik appear to be a giant.

"You have something of mine," Erik said, extending his left hand.

Tiny hand shaking, Madeleine held out the mask, but when Erik took it from her, she finally found her voice. The girl opened her mouth wide and screeched shrilly, pelting away from Erik as fast as she could.

x-x-x-x

Antoinette was panting as she joined the rest of the corps de ballet. Upon realising that the afternoon rehearsals were delayed, she had lingered a little longer at the café with Lucas and had completely lost track of time. She was expecting to be met by a stern glare from Madame Leblanc, but instead was met by a hysterical Lisette.

"Antoinette! Antoinette!" the blonde girl cried. "There's a ghost!"

"I beg your pardon?" Antoinette said, wondering what story had sprouted this absurd allegation.

"Madeleine - she was going back to the dormitory and she collided with something! She says it threw her right across the corridor! And then - oh! It must have been terrible! A ghost - a real, live _ghost_, Antoinette! It came out of the shadows and it spoke to her!"

Antoinette sighed. "Was it not Madeleine who went out with Isabelle and those stagehands last night and returned after drinking - what was it? Five bottles of wine between them?"

Lisette stamped a foot in indignation. "Well, yes, but she swears that this is true!"

"Do you not think that perhaps the tale is just a little far-fetched?"

"No! Not at all!" At this, Lisette lowered her voice in a secretive manner. "She says that she touched him - and his hands were so cold and clammy!"

"Why would she touch a ghost?" Antoinette was finding the story more and more ridiculous as it progressed.

"He dropped something when he bumped into her," Lisette said, triumphantly. "She was giving it back and its hand brushed against hers."

"And what, pray, would this object be?"

"A mask. A white, leather mask. Madeleine said that he was covering his face when she saw him. I wonder what he looks like underneath? Maybe he has no face! He is a ghost after all! Oh! We shall all have to be so very, very careful now, shan't we, Antoinette? Antoinette?"

But Antoinette had not heard anything after Lisette had mentioned a mask. _Erik_, she moaned, inwardly. _What were you thinking?_ Meanwhile, Élodie had joined the group of dancers and Lisette had immediately run off to relay the story to her friend.

x-x-x-x

Erik crouched in a corner up in the flies. He had followed little Madeleine and had watched, intrigued, as she shrieked out her story to anybody who would listen. She embellished quite a lot, and Erik found it morbidly fascinating to watch people gasp as they imagined what horrors this alleged 'ghost' would wreak on his victims. In fact, the more Erik thought about this, the more he liked the idea. He had not forgotten his vow of revenge on the ballet rats who had ridiculed him so, and under the guise of being a ghost, he found a whole array of ideas for pranks came to mind. With a twisted smile, Erik decided that there was not a moment to waste.

x-x-x-x

Antoinette tried to forget about Erik's rash actions and ignore the gasping dancers but yards away from her, however she found it quite impossible. What would they think if they realised who Erik really was? And what if his presence was somehow linked back to her? Antoinette winced at the idea of the ramifications she would face for keeping a sideshow freak hidden in the opera house. But before she could work herself into a nervous wreck any more, Madame Leblanc called the girls to centre stage so they could go through their routine again. Antoinette took her place in the back row and all thoughts of Erik left her as she pirouetted and leapt about the stage in synchronisation with the rest of the corps de ballet.

They were beginning the routine for a second time when Antoinette heard a creaking up in the flies. She raised her head and opened her mouth in horror, but the scream never came. She simply watched helplessly as a heavy backdrop crashed down onto the stage, trapping the front line of dancers underneath it. While everybody else immediately ran to the aid of Amandine, Madeleine and the others, Antoinette searched the flies with her eyes. She knew that she stood little chance of catching a glimpse of Erik if he did not want to be seen, but a flash of the white mask gave him away. Brown eyes met amber orbs and she was shocked to see a smirk play about his lips before he twirled his cape and disappeared back into the gloom.

x-x-x-x

As Erik began poling the gondola, he felt a grim sort of satisfaction. He had successfully scared the wits out of the ballet rats while simultaneously showing Antoinette that he was not content to sit helpless and alone. The falling backdrop had been simple, but effective. He would have to remember that one.

_And ... reviwer reply!_

_**Missy**, it truly is an under-represented idea, isn't it? Glad to know that someone else shares that view ;)_


	6. Harsh Reality

White Roses

_Disclaimer: I asked my parents if I could have POTO for my birthday and they walked away muttering strange things under their breath. I think that equates to a no._

**Harsh Reality**

Erik woke early the next morning to the sound of the bell ringing loudly, its sound echoing through the underground tunnels. Sighing, he made his way over to the foot of the staircase and was greeted by an angry Antoinette.

"What did you do that for?" she half-shouted at him, not giving him time to reply before beginning to rant. "That was really dangerous! What if one of the dancers had gotten really badly hurt? They could have missed opening night and the whole dance would be ruined!"

"They appear to be fine," Erik replied dismissively.

"Really?" Antoinette scoffed. "Little Madeleine was hysterical all night - to say nothing of the others!"

"They probably thrive on scandals. Another will do them no harm."

"And that's the other thing!" she cried. "What were you _thinking_ - wandering around the opera house like that?"

Now it was Erik's turn to become incensed. "I'll tell you what I was thinking! I was thinking that since you obviously cannot keep a commitment, I would have to search you out and remind you!"

"I -" Antoinette had been completely ready to fire back a retort, but hadobviously become somewhat humbled by Erik's own.

"Why, Antoinette?" he yelled back at her, taking full advantage of the girl's lack of rebuttal. "Do you not think that I worry about you when I pace around here for _hours_ on end waiting for you?"

"No, Erik, I -"

"Do you ever stop to think about how I might feel when you turn up the next morning, flick your hair and expect me to excuse you? Sometimes it hurts, Antoinette!"

Tears were welling in her eyes as she stammered a response. "E-Erik, surely a simple visit is not that important. Why do you, well, care so much?"

"Because I lo-" Erik broke off suddenly, horrified at what he had almost said. _I love you? Where did that come from?_

"What was that, Erik?" Antoinette said, meeting his eyes finally.

"I said, that, well, i-it's because, I - I -I'm, well, l-lonely, I suppose," Erik stammered, fully expecting her to scoff and run back up the stairs.

However to his surprise, she did nothing of the sort. Instead, she placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him into an embrace. Erik stood stock still, simply letting Antoinette hold him tightly and rest her head on his shoulder. It seemed to take both an eternity and mere seconds for her to let go, and Erik was surprised to see that her cheeks were tearstained.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she sniffed. "I know that it's hard for you. And I do promise to be more, well, reliable, I suppose. I care about you, Erik - I always will. Please do not think that I would leave you alone!"

"No, Antoinette," Erik mumbled, still taken aback by her response.

"But please, try and refrain from doing anything rash in my name," she continued. "It really does concern me. You are not invincible, Erik."

"I know, Antoinette."

She nodded and wiped away a few final tears still clinging to her cheeks. "Take care, Erik. I will visit you tonight - I _promise_."

"I will make sure that you do," Erik replied, in a sterner tone.

"Erik."

"Yes?"

"Nothing ... stupid, do you hear?"

"I am not an idiot, Antoinette," Erik said, a little offended.

"Exactly," Antoinette replied, smiling drolly. "Act like the prodigy that you are."

"Very well, then," Erik said, mollified.

"Good-bye, then Erik."

In what had become almost standard, Antoinette moved towards Erik and brushed her lips against his cheek - a simple gesture to most. The girl then turned and began to bound up the staircase, leaving Erik to pole the gondola back to his lair with a lot to think about.

x-x-x-x

Antoinette was greeted by Isabelle as she began to warm up for rehearsals. The ballet rat was holding back giggles, her heart-shaped face scarlet, one dainty hand pressed to her lips and the other habitually twirling a strand of wavy auburn hair. Antoinette knew that look and inwardly groaned. It meant that Isabelle wanted a scandalous gossip.

"Antoinette," Isabelle giggled. "You will never guess what happened last night!"

"I probably will not," Antoinette replied, while thinking that she probably did not want to know. Isabelle had been conspicuously absent from the dormitories the previous night.

"Well, I was having dinner with Joseph - you know Joseph? The stagehand? The dark-haired one?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good. Anyway, afterwards - we had had a bottle of wine, you see - and we went and - you know, Antoinette, you should try that sometime, it really is quite fun - soJoseph and I -"

"Isabelle," Antoinette said, loudly, cutting the other girl off. "Why are you telling me this?" _The girl is almost proud of her promiscuity_, she thought, disgustedly. _This is the third version of this story I have heard in six weeks!_

"Oh! You are no fun!" Isabelle said indignantly, stamping her foot and frowning.

Antoinette simply sighed and turned back to the barre, but Isabelle, upon the prospect of losing her, albeit reluctant, audience, immediately resumed her chattering.

"Oh, and did you know that Lucas Giry has been asking for you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Antoinette snapped around, then cursed herself for appearing so interested in what Isabelle had to say.

"Apparently he wanted to meet you this evening," the older girl went on, smug smile on her face. "You know, for a _private _dinner."

This was too much for both Isabelle and Antoinette. The former dissolved into a helpless pile of giddy mirth and the latter began to fume, eyes blazing and fists clenched.

"How dare you assume things like that!" Antoinette seethed. "Not all of us are -"

"Are what?"

Isabelle was back on her feet and appeared quite interested in what Antoinette had suddenly stopped herself from saying. Antoinette, on the other hand, was still debating in her head whether or not to deliver the insult. She had often longed to tell some of the shallower ballet rats such as the one before her exactly what she thought of them, but found it humiliating to bring herself down to their level. She had often regarded herself as having slightly higher morals than her companions in the dormitories.

"Never mind."

"No, really, what?"

"I said it was not important."

"I don't care."

"Antoinette!"

Antoinette turned, desperate to see her saviour, and was not particularly surprised to see Lucas standing before them, which set Isabelle off into another fit of giggles. Lucas regarded the ballet rat in bemusement, then turned to Antoinette.

"Antoinette, can you meet me after rehearsals?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied.

"There is something I would like to discuss with you," Lucas continued.

Antoinette nodded. "During the lunch break?"

"That will be fine."

Antoinette relaxed upon the realisation that she would not have to lie to excuse herself from an evening meeting; she had sworn to herself that she would keep her promise to Erik this time regardless of the circumstances. She turned to Isabelle, whom she had noticed listening to her conversation, but all she saw was the auburn head running towards Lisette and Élodie.

x-x-x-x

Erik sat at his table, head resting on his left palm. He replayed his encounter with Antoinette over and over in his mind. _I love you?_ The statement repeated itself, echoing louder and louder until it overpowered all other thoughts Erik had. He still had trouble believing what he had nearly said. It was not as if he had even admitted to himself that he had feelings for the ballerina - it had simply spilled out. But whether there was any truth to it was another matter.

Erik sighed moved over to the chest of drawers and looked at the dwindling bouquet of roses. Every so often, he would give one to Antoinette as she appeared to like them so much. He could not deny that the creamy, white buds were pretty, but they seemed to lack something. Perhaps it was their shape? Their fragrance? Colour, perhaps? The white roses just seemed a little too tame if Erik truly did love their recipient. _But do I? _he thought.

Sitting back down at the table, Erik began to ponder. He could picture Antoinette so clearly in his mind he could close his eyes and pretend that she was sitting opposite him. Every detail of her was memorised. Erik remembered his time with her and the feelings that came with it. With not much else to think about, Erik had become adept at tuning into what he was thinking. He could not deny that he at least felt something for Antoinette; whether that something was more than friendship was the question. How was Erik to know? It was not as if he had ever had a friend to compare Antoinette to.

This thought made him frown, but not out of sadness, rather out of concentration. _Nobody ever cared enough about me to try and help me,_ Erik thought. _Only Antoinette offered her hand. It was only one person._ Erik knew he was different - there was no use trying to deny it. Perhaps, then, it took something more to form a friendship and in turn, something more to accept it? It was just a thought, but it kept Erik wondering.

Erik shifted position in his chair - a stolen prop. The movement caused one of the legs to fall out; it had always been wobbly and the uneven floor was not helping. Erik jumped up from his seat before the chair tipped and he surveyed the broken object with resent. It had been difficult to take a chair as it was not exactly inconspicuous to carry. _What a joke,_ Erik thought. _The horrible ghost in the opera is worried about a chair._ It seemed quite trivial, but sparked a new thought, but this one on a totally different subject. Erik took a sheet of parchment from the chest of drawers and his piece of charcoal. It would do. Painstakingly, he began to scratch out a note requesting a new chair - in fairly precise terms. If Erik was going to use his fear to his advantage, he had decided that he should probably milk it for all that it was worth. As he drew towards the end, he wondered how to sign off. 'Erik' would not do - his signature must hold a sense of intrigue. After thinking for a moment, he grinned and wrote with a flourish 'O.G.' - Opera Ghost. It had a nice ring to it.

x-x-x-x

After morning rehearsals Antoinette, true to her word, met with Lucas in front of the stage. She still was not sure what he wanted with her, and he made no attempt to explain, simply bidding her good afternoon, complimenting her on her dancing and beginning to lead her through the opera house.

"Luc, where are we going?" Antoinette asked.

"My father's office," he replied.

"But why?" Of all places, this was the last Antoinette had expected.

"I don't want anybody to overhear us."

Antoinette thought this a little strange, but continued to follow Lucas until they were both shut in the manager's office. Antoinette took a seat as Lucas leaned against the wall. He ran his hands through his hair a few times before looking the girl in the face.

"Antoinette, are you alright?"

The question took her aback a little. "Of course. Why would I not be?"

"I don't know," Lucas replied. "It's just little things. Sometimes I feel that you do not want to spend time with me."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

Lucas paused, leaving Antoinette to wonder what on earth had brought about this sudden speculation.

"You often hesitate whenever I ask you for company," Lucas went on, "and even then, you are often in a hurry to get away."

Now it was Antoinette's turn to pause. She had no idea how she would get out of this without mentioning Erik, for it was always because of him that she had reservations about the time she spent with Lucas.

"The other ballet girls say that you often do not return to the dormitories until late. Where do you go?"

"Nowhere important," Antoinette replied, cheeks reddening.

"But where?" Lucas pressed.

"T-To see a friend," Antoinette said, consoling herself that it was not a lie, technically. "H-He is lonely, sometimes."

"He?"

"Yes, he. Why? Oh, Luc! You aren't jealous, are you?" Antoinette could barely suppress a laugh.

"Jealous? Why, no - I was simply concerned for your well-being."

"Well, you needn't be."

"Antoinette, I - I like you," Lucas stated, his own face going a little red. "I like you a lot."

"Really?" Antoinette said, rising. "I like you, too."

The tension between the two was so thick that one could almost touch it. Blue eyes locked on brown. Not a sound was heard but the breathing of the two youths. Hesitantly, the boy stepped a little closer to the girl.

"I _really_ like you, Antoinette."

x-x-x-x

True to his word to Antoinette, Erik did not act rashly. This time he took great care to remain inconspicuous as he moved through the opera house, shrinking back into any shadow he could find at the slightest noise. Slowly, he approached the manager's office and turned the handle slowly, ensuring it made no sound. The mechanism clicked quietly and Erik gently pushed the door open, sealed note in hand. He was prepared to simply leave the note on Monsieur Giry's desk and leave. He was not prepared for the two people he saw inside.

Erik's mouth dropped open as he took in the sight. Antoinette - the Antoinette who was his angel, his saviour, his one friend - was being held in the arms of Monsieur Giry's son. But Erik could tell that this was no innocent embrace; the couple's eyes were closed and their lips meeting each others. _She is kissing him!_ Erik realised. He dropped the note, long forgotten, and fled back down to the catacombs to wait for Antoinette.

x-x-x-x

Antoinette returned to afternoon rehearsals, face flushed. She could not put a name to her emotions; all she knew was that it felt like she was floating above the ground rather than walking. The only thing in her head was Lucas - dear Lucas!

As she joined the rest of the corps de ballet, she was greeted by Isabelle, who immediately began to giggle again upon seeing her.

"Oh, for heaven's sake - what is the matter, Isabelle?" Antoinette asked, angry at being brought down to earth again.

"You - you! Antoinette!" Isabelle shrieked. "You kissed him!"

"You let your imagination run away with you, Isabelle." Antoinette had no idea how Isabelle could have found out and had no desire for any scandalous rumours about her own doings to spread. She knew how easily a gossip could stretch the truth until the real event was lost and only the tall tales left.

"I do not! You really are quite silly, Antoinette. Have you looked in a mirror?"

Antoinette shook her head and accepted the small hand mirror that Isabelle passed to her; she had been using it to fix her hair only moments before. Upon seeing her face she gasped. Her lips were swollen and bright scarlet and her brown hair was mussed dreadfully.

"I told you so."

x-x-x-x

Erik was on his feet in a flash as he heard the bell ring. He was with Antoinette in a matter of minutes and was not surprised to see her in a state of what looked like blissful happiness. He was surprised at how much it hurt him, knowing the cause of her happiness. Without questioning her, Erik helped Antoinette into the gondola and brought the both of them back to his lair. Antoinette stepped off the vessel, grin plastered across her face.

"Oh, Erik!" she cried. "You will never believe this!"

"I doubt I will," Erik replied, trying to keep his tone neutral. He did not want Antoinette to know that he had seen her encounter with Lucas.

"Erik - I think I am in love!"

Erik grimaced. The assumption had been enough, but hearing the words come from Antoinette's own mouth brought a horrible sense of rejection to him. Still, he tried to put on a pleased expression.

"Really? With whom?"

"Why, Luc Giry! He's amazing - such a gentleman!"

Erik nodded slowly, still wondering why it hurt so much. He could feel the backs of his eyes burn, but was determined not to cry in front of Antoinette. _Why does it hurt?_

He allowed Antoinette to ramble for a while, before inviting her to sit and offering to show her his most recent composition on the violin. She readily accepted, but Erik could not help but feel that she did not listen the way that she usually did; instead, she seemed somewhat distant, as if she were thinking of other things. Erik did not want to know what those other things were.

The evening progressed in the same, awkward manner, although Antoinette seemed oblivious to any discomfort on Erik's part. Eventually the time came for her to return to the dormitories, and Erik took her back across the lake and they bid farewell at the foot of the staircase.

"Good night, Antoinette," he said.

"Good night, Erik," she replied, still smiling broadly. "You are such a good friend to me."

Erik simply nodded as he watched her ascend the stairs.

"Antoinette," he murmured, softly, "I think I love you."

_Ooh ... long chapter! Anyway, without further ado - reviewer replies!_

_**LoneWolf2005**, or should I say - Lisette? ;) I'm actually quite fond of the name. And the backdrop ... well, they did ask for it!_

_**MidnightPrincess**, aw, thanks! Good to know that you're enjoying it!_

_**Demon-In-Me**, well, there goes all my worrying that I would have to go through everything and change 'Antoinette'. Thanks for reading - hope you like the rest!_

_**Gracie**, thanks for reading! Hope I haven't kept you on tenterhooks ( ;) ) for too long!_


	7. Perseverence

White Roses

_Disclaimer: All-time creativity low on disclaimer front. Standard disclaimers apply. This does not belong to me. All clear? Let's move on, shall we?_

**Perseverance**

Awaking the next morning, Erik found the sadness had left him and in its place there was a hurt anger and sense of resentment. Could nobody tell that he adored Antoinette? Obviously far more than this Lucas Giry - Erik had convinced himself that the man probably saw Antoinette only as a ballet rat, one of many, simply somebody to have a bit of fun with. It burned him up to think of anybody treating Antoinette like that. His dilemma now was how to convince Antoinette herself of this; how to convince her that he, Erik, surely loved her far more than anybody else ever could.

Erik had had no experience with love before, and so found himself racking his brains for inspiration on what to do. He knew that she was aware that their friendship was perhaps a little stranger and maybe therefore closer than most, but Erik was intelligent enough to realise that that fact alone would not help his cause. _Perhaps if I were to tell her?_ Erik pondered the notion, but eventually tossed it aside. He did not want her to come to him out of guilt; rather out of choice. Erik fully intended to make that choice an easy one and was quite determined to come out on top. The only problem was how exactly he would do that. _Obviously,_ Erik thought, _I must show her that I believe her to be the most wonderful person. Perhaps I should give her something ..._

He mulled over this idea for a time, wondering what Antoinette would consider to be the greatest gift. Already he had given her several more portraits - some of just her face, others of her practising ballet, still more in which she was simply standing, but all exquisitely drawn. Erik quickly discarded any thought of more artwork. _It must be something truly special._ Thinking hard, he tried to recall the dreams that Antoinette had confided to him during her visits. Dreams of seeing the world, she had said, a dream of marrying a prince - although she had quickly declared that particular one silly and unrealistic. But finally, Erik remembered the one she always came back to.

_"Do you know what I would like - more than anything in the world?" Antoinette asked._

_"Pray, do tell," Erik replied, watching the girl absently twirl a strand of hair around her index finger._

_"Please, don't laugh," she said, earnestly, "but I would so much love to be a lead ballerina in the opera!"_

_"I think that you would make a fine lead," Erik replied, solemnly._

_Antoinette smiled. "You really are too kind. But it would be wonderful, no? Imagine - perhaps I shall audition if Amandine were to leave?"_

_Erik nodded and watched as Antoinette's eyes took on a glassy look - the expression they always took when she was daydreaming. She looked the picture of contentment._

Erik's face slowly broke into a smile.

x-x-x-x

"And again, girls! Élodie! Point those toes! And one! Two! Three! Fo- What did I say about those toes, Mademoiselle d'Arcis!"

Antoinette bit her lip in concentration as the corps de ballet spun and leapt as one, mainly concentrating on staying out of the way of Madame Leblanc's critical eye. Fortunately, in the back row, she remained fairly inconspicuous, although she considered her placement unfortunate at the same time. Antoinette hated being relegated to stand in the shadows and simply blend in with the rest of the ballerinas. The corps drew back as one and Antoinette sighed softly as she watched Amandine begin her pas de deux. _Someday_, she thought. _Maybe someday that will be me._

They went through their dance several more times before Madame Leblanc was satisfied and allowed them to leave. The dancers all went off in different directions in their own small cliques but Antoinette took her time. She was not surprised at all to find a certain young man behind her when she turned around.

"Why, good evening, Luc," she smiled.

"Good evening, Antoinette," Lucas replied, greeting her with a soft kiss on the cheek. "Your rehearsal appeared to go well."

"Yes - at the rate Madame Leblanc has worked us, we have been ready for opening night weeks ahead of schedule."

Lucas grinned and placed an arm around her shoulders. "What do you say we go to the roof? It will be far easier to have a discussion there, no?"

Antoinette opened her mouth to reply, but the words never came.

Everybody in the theatre turned their heads as one to the direction of Amandine Vereneux's scream.

x-x-x-x

Erik, hiding in the flies, looked down with satisfaction on the hubbub. His plan had gone off without a hitch - not that he had ever doubted it would in the first place. He had taken full advantage of his limited resources and he swelled with morbid pride as the result lay sprawled down before him.

Erik had learnt but one useful skill during his years with the gypsy fair - the art of ventriloquism. The keeper of the tent opposite him was a master ventriloquist and it had fascinated the boy. Yearning for any form of intellectual stimulation, Erik had imitated the man during the night when the gypsy slept and could not whip him. He had proven a natural. Now, finally, he had a reason to put his skill to use.

Throwing his voice down the scattered corridors below the flies, Erik had called Amandine. She had followed his voice blindly - right over the patch of false floor Erik had prepared. The lead ballerina was now sprawled ungracefully, clutching a rapidly swelling ankle. Her cries had brought what seemed like most of the opera house running to her aid as Erik looked on amusedly.

x-x-x-x

Antoinette and Lucas followed the crowd out of curiosity, finally coming upon the sorry sight of Amandine. Madame Leblanc was kneeling down beside the girl as her star wept into her shoulder. Antoinette winced as she took in the injury - it looked very painful. Nobody could make any sense of what Amandine was saying, but eventually she managed to recover enough to slowly explain the circumstances.

"It was so strange!" she hiccoughed. "I heard a voice - it called me - it was everywhere - and then I fell ..."

Some of the bystanders exchanged confused glances before looking back at the distraught girl. She had begun to weep again, while the rest watched awkwardly. When Madame Leblanc helped her to stand, it became quite apparent that Amandine's ankle was badly sprained - she yelped whenever she tried to put weight on it. Suddenly, Madame Leblanc gasped.

"Oh, dear Lord! What of the dance?"

Amandine's face turned white at this and she abruptly stopped her noisy sobs; now the tears simply leaked down her face. Antoinette inhaled sharply and felt Lucas's grip on her shoulder tighten slightly. She knew that there was no hope that Amandine's ankle would heal before opening night, less than two weeks away. She also knew that there was no understudy - Amandine had always been too proud to entertain the idea of having one.

"You could do it."

Antoinette snapped her head up as the voice whispered in her ear. She frowned at Lucas.

"Luc, did you say that?"

"Why, no, Antoinette," Lucas replied, also frowning. "Why? Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, yes, do not trouble yourself about my health. It must have been my imagination."

x-x-x-x

Late at night, Erik slipped out from the catacombs once more. Cautiously, he made his way through the opera house until he reached Madame Leblanc's room. Listening at the keyhole, he quickly discerned that the elderly lady was sleeping, her breathing soft and steady. Not wishing to wake her sooner than necessary, Erik slowly pushed the door open; it was not locked and squeaked only a little. He padded softly across the room and found a suitable shadowy corner next to the washstand. Calling on ventriloquist skills, Erik began to throw his voice around the room.

"Geraldine ..." came his voice from the armoire. The ballet mistress stirred in her sleep but did not wake.

"_Geraldine ..._" The voice was more urgent now, whispering from the foot of the bed. Madame Leblanc rolled over on her side, still sleeping. Erik took a deep breath and prepared for his final call.

"_Geraldine!_"

Madame Leblanc's eyes snapped open and she turned her head this way and that, trying to identify the speaker who had shouted her name. Erik smirked in the shadows, noting with satisfaction the terrified expression on her face. _This should makes things much easier,_ he thought.

"Who - Who's there?" the old woman stuttered, clutching her sheets to her bosom. "What d-do you want with m-me?"

"My identity is unimportant," Erik called, now from the small washstand. "But my purpose is anything but."

"What do you want?"

"I offer you a favour," Erik said, throwing his voice back to the armoire. "You are in need of a prima ballerina."

"Y-Yes ... how did you know?"

"I can tell you where to find your new star."

"Who are you?" Madame Leblanc was looking panicky now. "Leave me alone!"

"Patience, Geraldine," Erik said, a little lazily, now. "As I said, you already have your soloist. Her name is Antoinette Baudeux."

"Wh-What?"

"I suggest you obey these instructions." Erik's voice spoke right next to the bed, now. "Failure to comply could result in much worse things than an injured ankle."

To make his point, Erik let the words hang before reaching the tall candle in its stand that the ballet mistress had lit. He deftly knocked it from the table beside the washstand, noting with satisfaction the sharp sound of it snapping. The flame went out immediately - the floor was damp from recent rains leaking through the roof and was quite impossible to catch alight.

"I will watch the rehearsal tomorrow," Erik called from the doorway. "Antoinette will dance the lead."

x-x-x-x

The sound of the chattering ballet rats reminded Antoinette strongly of twittering birds. Since Amandine's accident, there had been much discussion on the future of their dance. Some had grudgingly resigned themselves to assuming that their performance would be cut from the opera while others hoped and prayed that they would be cast in Amandine's place. Antoinette herself had reluctantly joined the pessimists, but had whispered a secret prayer that night that she might fill in. She was determined, however, not to get her hopes up. She knew that the higher they were, the more painful it would be to have them dashed.

The corps de ballet were scattered around backstage. Madame Leblanc was yet to arrive, and Antoinette was considering simply going back to the dormitories. However this option was denied her when Lisette quickly pulled her into a circle of girls all listening to Élodie tell some sort of story about the night before. Antoinette had no desire to hear it, but the rest of the girls made it quite impossible for her to leave.

"Really? You did not hear it?" Élodie said, mouth open in mock surprise. "Well, I was already lying awake, I suppose."

"What was it, Élodie?" asked little Madeleine, face eager.

"It genuinely was the strangest thing," Élodie continued, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder, enjoying her moment in the spotlight. "There was a voice from Madame Leblanc's room and it seemed to move. It was hard to hear, of course, as it would be, but it just sounded so strange!"

There was a sudden spread of murmuring throughout the throng, but nobody could question Élodie anymore as Madame Leblanc herself made an appearance. Today, however, she was not her normal, tidy self. Instead, her face was white, her grey hair falling loose already and she walked as if she expected to be ambushed any moment. Antoinette frowned at this, wondering if the ballet mistress had heard the voice Élodie spoke of as well, before scorning herself and dismissing the thought. _Of course there was no voice_, she thought. _It's just another silly tall tale._

"Girls!" Madame Leblanc called, shakily. The group of ballerinas reluctantly abandoned their conversation and went to listen to their teacher. They watched her in curiosity as she took a few deep breaths.

"Are you ill, Madame Leblanc?" Claire, an acquaintance of Isabelle's asked.

"No, no, not ill, my dear, thank you for your concern, though," gabbled the ballet mistress. "I am just under quite a lot of stress at the moment."

A murmur of understanding swept through the group, but halted quickly under an icy glare from Madame Leblanc. Antoinette relaxed a little - this was the woman she knew.

"Due to Mademoiselle Vereneux's unfortunate accident," Madame Leblanc went on, "we shall have to quickly train a new soloist."

At this she licked her lips quickly and her pale blue eyes darted around the theatre, almost as if she were looking for somebody.

"Will we audition for this, or have you already picked one of us?"

Madame Leblanc inhaled sharply. "I am sorry, Élodie, but yes, I have already made a selection."

Antoinette felt her heart beating wildly and she vaguely wondered if anybody else could hear it. All rational thought was roughly shoved out of her mind, the one hopeful part of herself overpowering everything. _Oh, let it be me! Please ... let it be me!_ She didn't actually hear the name Madame Leblanc called out, but suddenly noticed that all eyes were on her.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, clearing her throat and blushing a little.

"Antoinette!" Madame Leblanc called sharply. "I do assume that you would like to dance? Or shall I simply ask somebody else?"

Emotion flooded back into Antoinette's body. A small smile quickly became a wide grin as she nodded enthusiastically. She barely noticed the jealous glares of some of the other girls, only concentrating on not whooping and jumping for happiness.

"Good, then." Madame Leblanc was all businesslike again. "Well, girls? What are you doing here? Why are you not warmed up?"

x-x-x-x

When Antoinette visited Erik that night, it was all he could do not to immediately tell her exactly what he had done. _No, that will have to wait,_ Erik reminded himself. He had decided to withhold the truth until opening night - after Antoinette had obtained her dream. But it made him smile all the same to see her so excited. She barely stopped chattering or twirling around his lair throughout the entirety of her visit. Erik didn't mind in the least. _That boy will never be able to make her this happy_, he thought.

_Reviewer replies - you guys make my day :)_

_**Greatest**, you know what - I feel sorry for him, too. But - yipes! I'd better get to it. I don't want to die ... ;)_

_**MidnightPrincess **- me too. No doubt about it ;)_

_**Mel**, thank you! You make me feel all toasty inside - which is pretty helpful considering that winter is coming ..._

_**Birdie num num**, it is ignored, is it not? Glad you like it!_

_**DarkSecretLove**, thanks! The one bad thing about this ... everyone seems to know the outcome! At least it'll be fun getting to it ;)_

_**Malena**, don't we all? I wasn't sure about doing a phic that suggestedErik/Madame Giry, but I'm glad that people seem to like the idea._

_**HPROXMYSOX**, I'm glad actually planning the story paid off, if you think it fits together well :) At least this means that I can spit out chapters fairly quickly, knowing exactly what will happen in each one ... :whistles: (By the way, HP 'rox MY sox' as well!)_

_**Gracie**, he is a bit confused, isn't he? Poor thing._

_**Erik's Music Of The Night**, thank you! High praise - and I am writing, I swear!_


	8. Shattered Illusions

White Roses

_Disclaimer: If I owned this, I would be sitting here laughing at the people writing phanphiction. Given that I am writing phanphiction, I think it would be pretty safe to say that I don't own this. Ho-hum._

**Shattered Illusions**

Erik shifted as he peered over the low balustrade at the very back of the theatre. He was pleased to see the opera house filling quickly; he wanted as many people as possible to see Antoinette's debut. Erik had watched her rehearsals and took great satisfaction in seeing how much she enjoyed it and the speed at which she progressed. Granted, she was by no means a prima ballerina yet, but Erik had full confidence that someday she would be. He shifted again, quite uncomfortable in his crouched position. He had considered hiding in one of the boxes before overhearing that a full house was expected, so he had resigned himself to his place up the back.

The sound of the chattering crowd over the orchestra warming up was one that inspired great adrenaline in Erik - it represented so much to him. This was what preceded the magic of the performance. This was the lead-up to the incredible. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Erik could hardly wait for Antoinette to come visit him afterwards, gushing about the performance, and the time for him to finally tell her how he had given this to her. He imagined her beaming face, lighting up as she realised exactly how much Erik cared about her. _And, of course,_ Erik reminded himself, _there is the other present._

Finally, the orchestra struck up the overture and the crowd a hush swept over the crowd. Erik took a final glance over the audience; all was quiet. His gaze shifted to the boxes, occupied by the people who walked in higher circles - counts, lords, barons and the like. All were full except, he noticed, one that had been previously taken. He racked his brains and remembered the couple who had sat there. He did not know their names, only that they appeared to be fairly haughty. Another scan of the boxes informed Erik that they were, in fact, making their way from box to box, talking to each of the occupants in turn. Erik had heard of this happening, but had never been able to understand this attitude - as if a performance was nought but an opportunity to raise one's own social status. _A performance should be about the art!_ Erik thought, angrily. Nevertheless, he found a rather obvious silver lining in the situation. Smiling more broadly, he stood, stretching his legs, and made his way to the vacant box. He knew full well that the couple would most probably mingle throughout the whole opera, and thought it such a shame for the comfortable chairs inside to go to waste. Erik quickly made his way to the door to the box. Before he settled in, he stole a brief glance at the placard on the door.

"Box Five".

x-x-x-x

Antoinette checked her reflection one last time in the mirror. Having her own dressing room was an exciting novelty for her, and she had taken full advantage of the extra space - the fact that she could dress and apply her stage make-up without constantly banging elbows with the other girls, or being shoved a half-empty wine bottle from time to time. Finally she was satisfied, and made her way to the wings a few minutes early.

"Are you nervous?" asked her new partner, a tall dancer named Etienne.

"A little," Antoinette murmured.

"It really is the waiting that is the worst," Etienne said, trying to peer out at the audience without being seen himself. "Once you get onstage - you forget everything. Trust me."

Antoinette smiled faintly. "I hope you're right."

"I am," Etienne replied, returning the smile. "Don't worry. You'll be wonderful. Do that fellow of yours proud."

Antoinette blushed furiously at the comment, but before she could answer, Madame Leblanc called for the dancers to warm up, and she was obliged to join them.

x-x-x-x

Erik waited in complete comfort for the ballet. The singing was exquisite, but not even that could distract him from what he longed to see. Finally, the corps de ballet made their way out, executing their routine to perfection, courtesy of Madame Leblanc's hard training. Erik quickly found Antoinette, but she was no longer at the back. Instead, she was in the centre of the front row, dancing as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Several more bars of music passed and Antoinette broke away from the group, meeting Etienne centre stage. Slowly, they began their graceful dance, captivating Erik. As that too drew to a close and the audience applauded, Erik looked across the theatre, and noticed a tall, blonde man clapping wildly and smiling broadly, sitting in the opposite box. Erik cracked a smile. _Lucas Giry_, he thought. _After tonight, Antoinette will be mine._

x-x-x-x

As Antoinette took her curtain call with Etienne, she found herself completely unable to wipe the grin from her face. The applause swelled as she curtsied - _This,_ she thought, _must be the greatest feeling in the world_. She looked up towards the boxes and quickly located a certain one. She beamed up as Lucas stood and clapped for her. _No,_ Antoinette decided, fondly, _it's not. Being in love must be greater than this._

And with those thoughts, she was obliged to move aside as the curtain calls continued.

x-x-x-x

As soon as Antoinette left the stage, Erik near flew down to his lair. He had something else for Antoinette. It was laid out on his bed, still as beautiful as he remembered. The dress was exquisite - a creation of dark green silk with sloping shoulders, wide sleeves and a full skirt. Erik had also procured a matching parasol and bonnet. Now it was time to present them to Antoinette.

Holding the garments carefully, Erik crept back up the staircase and sneaked into Antoinette's dressing-room. He was preparing to hang the garments in the armoire for her to find, but a small "Oh!" of surprise stopped him in his tracks, Erik turned warily, but relaxed when he saw Antoinette standing there. He smiled at her, draped his presents over a chair and made his way over to her.

"Erik, what are -"

"Antoinette, you were perfect!" Erik said, cutting off the ballerina.

"Why, thank you Erik," Antoinette replied, a little haltingly.

Erik frowned. "Antoinette, why is your expression so? You looked so happy onstage."

At this Antoinette smiled. "I was. I am. It's an amazing experience, Erik."

"I would assume so."

But then Antoinette turned hesitant again. Erik frowned and wondered what could be troubling her.

"Erik," Antoinette said, "what, may I ask, are you doing here?"

Erik brushed away the question. "You need not nag me. I keep myself well hid and you know it."

"That is not what I am bothered about," Antoinette replied before gesturing to the items on her chair. "What I meant to ask was: what on earth are those?"

Erik's amber eyes lit up. "They are yours."

With that, he picked up the garments and handed them to Antoinette, who accepted them a little gingerly, eyes wide and incredulous. She fingered the delicate detail on the dress before turning confused eyes on Erik, who was watching her in confident anticipation.

"Erik, I - I don't know what to say," she stammered.

"Do you like them?" Erik pressed.

"They - They - where on earth did you get them? They must have cost a fortune! Wait -" Antoinette broke off, eyes narrowing accusingly. "Were you out in the town's modistes? How could you? Did you not -"

"Calm yourself, Antoinette," Erik said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It was dark. Nobody saw me."

"Oh, well I suppose that - Erik!" Antoinette's mouth dropped open in shock. "You didn't _steal_ them, did you?"

Her horrified expression confused Erik. Surely she should be happy that he had been able to risk that for her?

"Antoinette, I -"

"You did! Erik!" Antoinette shoved Erik's gifts back at him. "I can't take these!"

"Why not?" Erik retorted, confidence crumbling under his tough façade.

"Well, firstly because they are not rightfully mine nor yours," Antoinette said, matter-of-factly. "Secondly because I have no idea why you would want to give me such things."

She folded her arms in a conclusive gesture. Erik looked down at the rejected gifts in his arms and felt the back of his eyes burning, but again he refused to cry in front of Antoinette. Inwardly, he wept. Erik had been so sure that Antoinette would appreciate his thoughtfulness; he had taken the most beautiful garments from the modiste - surely any girl would appreciate that! He replayed their conversation in his mind. Where had he slipped up? But then he remembered something else Antoinette had said. _I was. I am. It's an amazing experience, Erik._

Smiling now, Erik picked his head up and looked Antoinette in the eye. "But you did enjoy the performance?"

"Erik, yes," Antoinette replied with a puzzled expression, "I did. I told you that."

"I can give you much more than material gifts, Antoinette."

"I beg your pardon?" Antoinette looked genuinely confused now. "Please, do not be so cryptic."

"Antoinette," Erik said, puffing up his chest with pride, "I gave you this."

Her frown deepened. "What did you give me?"

"This!" Erik sighed, frustrated that she did not understand. "I gave you the solo! You enjoyed it, I trust?"

"Erik, are you feeling well?" Antoinette replied. "You are mistaken. Madame Leblanc gave me -"

"Why did she elect you to be the soloist?" Erik pressed.

"Why, Amandine had an accident. Why else?"

Erik smiled. "Correct. An _accident_."

Antoinette obviously did not miss the underlying message in his tone. She stared at the boy in front of her, face reddening at a rather alarming rate. Her hands, now back by her sides, were clenched into fists and were near shaking with fury.

"Erik!" she exploded. "You - You ... caused that?"

"Of course," Erik replied, bewildered at her reaction. "You cannot tell me that you do not appreciate it. Did it not lead to you dancing tonight?"

Antoinette said nothing, simply seething on the spot. Erik, sensing trouble, went on.

"But, Antoinette, you must not read it the wrong way! It was not as if there were a chance that there would be no soloist. Not a chance at all! And after I paid a visit to Madame Leblanc, there was no doubt who that soloist would be. You - Antoinette! It was all for you!"

After a few failed attempts at stuttering out a response, Antoinette finally managed to spit out a reply. "I cannot believe it!"

Erik relaxed - surely now she saw how much he could give her! "It was no problem, Antoinette. Anything for -"

"You blackmailed Madame Leblanc into letting me dance?" Antoinette near screeched, cutting him off. "Erik, how could you?"

Erik was about to answer, but stopped when he saw tears in her eyes. Antoinette stormed over to the chair and collapsed into it, angrily wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Eventually she met Erik's eyes and he was shocked to see them so sorrowful.

"Erik, if I am ever to be a prima ballerina, I wished for it to be by my own merit!" Antoinette said. "Not by your doing!"

Erik dumped the clothes on the floor unceremoniously and clenched his own fists, furious now. "I thought it would make you happy!"

'"But why?"

"Why? Why have I done anything for you, Antoinette?"

"Erik, please don't be angry, I -"

"I do so much for you and you never seem to appreciate it!"

"What are you saying? You know that I appreciate you!"

"You do not! Why then do you insist on running around with that pompous manager's son like a common tramp!"

Antoinette's mouth fell open in shock and the tears that had been threatening to fall finally began to spill down her cheeks. Erik. in his ire, felt no remorse for the insulting remark.

"Erik ..."

"What?" he spat bitterly.

"Why are you being so horrid to me?"

"Because I love you!"'

_Oooh! Temper, temper, temper. Anyway ... reviewer replies!_

_**Shekiah**, thanks, hun! Glad to know that you like it :)_

_**Li Young**, we all pity Erik, don't we? I've never understood the women in Erik's life. They always choose the wrong guys!_

_**Gracie**, well, I can't see your review on the reviews list, but I got an email alert for it! And yes ... he does learn things in strange ways, eh?_


	9. Unrequited Love

White Roses

_Disclaimer: In sleep he sang to me ... In dreams he came and gave me the rights to this ... Note the use of the word 'dreams', What's really sad is that technically I should be putting a disclaimer to the disclaimer noting that the first part is not mine, either. Sad, eh?_

**Unrequited Love**

_Because I love you! I love you! I love you ..._

The words seemed to echo torturously around the dressing room. Antoinette found herself completely unable to move; the only thing she could do was to stare at Erik, who had raised a hand to his mouth in horror, apparently regretting his outburst. She watched as he let out a string of curses under his breath but still could only bring herself to do just that - watch. Erik seemed even more infuriated by her lack of response and took a deep breath, preparing to launch into another rant. But before he could say anything, she suddenly found her tongue.

"Erik, I - what did you say?"

Antoinette watched Erik's unmasked cheek flush an even deeper shade of scarlet as he spat out his answer. "You heard me, Antoinette. God forbid I should repeat myself."

"Is it true?"

"Antoinette, why should I tell you? It matters not whether I answer yes or no - you would not have me either way!"

"Erik -"

All of Antoinette's emotions rushed around her head. _He loves me?_ Her own heart went out to the boy - she knew that the truth from her would sound like a rejection to him. All she could manage was to stutter his name every now and then as thoughts that did not even make sense struggled inside her, each longing to come bursting out of her mouth. Antoinette watched as Erik picked up the forgotten garments and with a shaking hand, began to trace the detail on the dress, just as Antoinette had done mere minutes ago. His shoulders heaved and Antoinette knew that the dress would soon be tearstained.

"Erik, please don't," Antoinette murmured.

"Leave me alone, Antoinette," came the reply. "You do not want me."

"That's not true."

Erik lifted his head, hope glimmering in his eyes. "It is not?"

"No, Erik," Antoinette said, reaching for her handkerchief from the vanity. "I would swear on all that is holy that I would never abandon you."

His face fell again. Sighing sadly, Antoinette moved over to him and hesitantly tried to wipe away the tears gleaming on his left cheek but was instantly pushed backward by Erik. He dropped the garments again and snatched the handkerchief from Antoinette. He was about to raise it to his face when he noticed the hand-embroidered initials on it. Stitched in pink against the white cotton, they were difficult to miss: "A.G." Erik looked at Antoinette in confusion.

"Who is this?" he asked. "'A.G.'?"

"Oh," Antoinette said, looking flustered and quickly grabbing the handkerchief back. "It is nobody."

"Really," Erik said, cynically. "It strikes me as odd that one would embroider such random letters with no meaning."

Antoinette bit her lip, tracing the letters with her thumb. "It is not your concern, Erik."

"I think that you will find it most certainly is."

"Fine!" Antoinette half-yelled. "It's me! Are you happy?"

Erik frowned. "But are your initials not 'A.B.'?"

Antoinette winced, knowing what was coming. "Yes, Erik, they are."

"Then why is there a ..." Erik trailed off, comprehension dawning on his face, only to be quickly replaced by a look of contempt. "Oh. Antoinette Giry. How charming."

Antoinette blushed furiously. "Erik, please do not read into it like that."

"How can I not?" Erik replied, seemingly near tears again. "Antoinette - _I_ love you."

Antoinette found herself near tears again; the sight of Erik, one of her dearest friends, in this state was heart-wrenching for her. He was still staring at her, those amber eyes probing her, begging for a response.

"Erik, I think of you like a dear brother -" she began, but was quickly cut off.

"A brother?" Erik appeared to take the comment as an insult. "That is all?"

Antoinette frowned. "Erik, I know you are upset, but really you must not -"

"I must not what?" Erik asked, the old anger returning. "I bare my soul to you and all I get in return is a dismissal?"

Antoinette, finally rendered speechless, simply watched as Erik walked over to the vanity and snatched the bunch of white roses on it, tossing the vase to the floor, its china shards flying across the floorboards. Antoinette had kept every rose that Erik had given her in that vase.

"You don't want these."

With that, Erik stormed out of the room, leaving Antoinette alone in her confusion.

x-x-x-x

Erik ran through the back passages of the opera house, not caring if he knocked anything. His left hand clutched the roses tightly, their small thorns digging into his flesh, but he didn't care. All Erik wanted was to get away.

It was not until he collapsed over the pipe organ that Erik managed to think. He glanced down at the flowers and, scowling, tossed them aside unceremoniously. He leant forwards onto his elbows, the resultant discordant noise from the organ reverberating around the lair. Erik buried his face in his hands, but scowled deeper still as his right hand brushed against the leather of the mask. Snorting, he ripped it off and tossed it aside with the roses, but it did no good. Resting his deformed cheek on his hand only resulted in him drawing the hand back in disgust upon feeling the disfiguring lumps and twisted flesh. Turning away from the pipe organ, Erik instead rested his head on his knees and seethed in silence.

_Why?_ he demanded, torturing himself with the thought. _Why does she not love me?_ Erik simply did not understand. He had been kind to her, had he not? Given her beautiful presents? But still she insisted that she felt nothing more than amicable friendship for him? And that Giry boy ... Erik ran his fingers through his unkempt hair in frustration. _What does he have that I do not?_ Erik could answer that easily. _He is handsome - he does not have this hellish face!_ Just to torture himself, Erik waded out into the frigid lake and simply stared at his marred reflection. He did not know how long he stood, only noticing after a time that his fingers were turning blue with cold. Sighing irritably, he waded back to dry land and sat back down at the pipe organ.

_No,_ Erik thought, after a time, _Antoinette is not the type to be swayed by a pretty face._ It was true. Had she not told him time and time again how true beauty was invisible? That admiration should be earned? Erik pondered this for a moment, and grinned as he reached a conclusion. _I don't need to show Antoinette love through gifts,_ he thought. _Rather, by showing her what happens if she will not accept me ... That is passion._

x-x-x-x

Antoinette stepped out of her dressing room, but with hardly the same enthusiasm as she had the previous night. It sickened her to think that the reason she was in this position was due to a twisted plan of Erik's. It sickened her to think that she was here through cruel pranks and blackmail and not her own merit as a ballerina. _It's not real,_ she thought.

Nevertheless, she made her way to the backstage area once again to begin her warm up routine with the rest of the corps de ballet. She went through the motions automatically, hardly paying attention to the chattering of the other girls or of the stagehands rushing by to set up the props onstage.

Suddenly a loud crash and a yell cut through the air, jolting Antoinette to her senses. This was not, however, a piercing shriek from an overexcited ballet rat - this was a cry of terror. She jumped to her feet as the sound of heavy footsteps and heavy breathing drew nearer. From out behind the scenery came Joseph Buquet, a young stagehand at opera house. He was panting and his eyes were wild. Isabelle gasped and ran from the barre to comfort him.

"For goodness sake, what is the matter?" Madame Leblanc asked in annoyance.

"It - It was horrible!" Joseph managed to splutter.

The wheels were already turning in Antoinette's head. _No, Erik,_ she thought. _Tell me you didn't!_ Unfortunately, the tale Joseph recounted only confirmed Antoinette's suspicions. Apparently he had been up in the flies when he thought he heard a voice calling his name. As he turned to look, standing in the shadows, he thought he saw a cloaked figure. Curiosity getting the better of him, Joseph had approached the figure, but before he had taken two steps, a massive weight had dropped from above, smashing a great hole in the flies - right where he would have been had he taken another step - and landing heavily on the stage. Joseph told of how the figure had effortlessly leapt over the hole and advanced on him, his face still hidden in shadow. It had withdrawn a piece of rope and Joseph had tried to run when he realised that it was a noose. The figure had lazily tossed the rope around Joseph's neck, halting the stagehand immediately. The figure had walked up to him and whispered something in his ear, then finally unveiled his face.

Antoinette clenched her fists as Joseph described the deformity and the other ballet rats squealed and pretended to faint. _Erik,_ she thought, _now you have gone too far._

x-x-x-x

Erik waited in the catacombs. Soon enough the bell began to ring and smirking, he began to pole the gondola across the lake. He had been confronted by an angry Antoinette before, but she was not angry this time. This time she was livid.

"Antoinette," Erik said, calmly. "So nice of you to drop by. I trust that Buquet has detailed our little encounter to you?"

Antoinette maintained a stony silence, simply glaring. Erik shrugged.

"You know that there are more things I can do," Erik said, turning back to the boat. "It can stop any time you like."

Grinning now, he turned back to Antoinette. "Fear can turn to love, I suppose."

"What utter rubbish," Antoinette scoffed, before grabbing Erik's shoulder. "Erik, you must understand! I cannot control who you or I love! Erik -"

Antoinette wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before pulling Erik into a tight embrace and sobbing into his shoulder. Erik stood still for a moment, but then hesitantly wrapped his thin arms around the distraught girl, returning the embrace.

"Erik, I am so sorry," Antoinette said, beginning to hiccough through her tears. "I am sorry - but I just cannot love you. It is not your fault, nor mine, it just ... is, I suppose."

Breaking away, Erik nodded. Antoinette dropped her eyes to her feet, still clad in ballet slippers. The silent exchange was uncomfortable and neither spoke for several minutes. Finally, Antoinette cleared her throat.

"I should go," she said.

Erik, still unable to speak, simply nodded again. With a last, pitiful glance at him, Antoinette began to make her way back up the staircase.

_Reviwer replies!_

_**Greatest**, yes, he said it! Antoinette might just need a kick in the head so she can come to her senses :rolls eyes:_

_**tink8812**, I agree! Guys, take note. And thank you so much - I'm flattered._

_**Antoinette's Ghost**, thanks! I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long ..._

_**Mortal Phantom**, aw, thank you!_

_**HPROXMYSOX**, oh, yeah - I've always hated cliffies ... until i had a chance to write one!_

_**Gracie**:sighs: I suppose you're right ... at least he said it ;)_

_**Erik's Music Of The Night**, that's why they invented the phrase "stay tuned"! So ... do so!_

_**Celestia Memora**:nods: Erik probably really hates blonde, rich guys now ... _

_**Meluvian Indil**, of course there was more than meets the eye ;) At least, according to me and my phic._

_**Minerva's Phantom**, wow! That's dedication - hope you didn't have to get up early that day ;)_


	10. The Beginning

White Roses

_Disclaimer: Oh, woe to me! It is not mine, and never will be! Sheesh._

**The Beginning**

For several months, Antoinette heard nothing of Erik. From time to time she would steal down into the catacombs again and ring for Erik to come collect her, but she never got a response. Finally, she had simply abandoned the idea. She understood, of course. It was not as if Erik knew any other way of how to deal with disappointment. _And_, she consoled herself, _at least he is not wreaking havoc in the opera house._ Antoinette had been vastly relieved as the talk of the mysterious Opera Ghost died down. Ballet rats found new gossip. The new quickly took over the old. Things were almost back to normal.

Antoinette had willingly surrendered her prima ballerina status when Amandine was fit to dance again. The older girl, however, still maintained her spiteful attitude towards Antoinette - Amandine was not liable to forgive and forget. Antoinette found that she did not really mind. She did not care for such a fair-weather friend anyhow.

After the season ended, Antoinette found much more time to spend with Lucas Giry. The pair were oblivious to the fact that they were the main topic of gossip amongst the ballet dormitories. Always the constant question of whether Lucas would propose. Lisette and Élodie had even gone to the length of collecting bets from the other girls, all the while keeping this secret to Antoinette. All Antoinette knew was that she was blissfully happy.

x-x-x-x

Erik dolefully plucked out a few notes on the violin pizzicato before setting it aside. He found no joy in playing it now - the instrument only reminded him of Antoinette. Everything reminded him of her. So many times he had heard her ringing the bell across the lake, but Erik had never been able to bring himself to answer its call. Everything was an effort now - he seldom stole food anymore and would go for days without eating, growing skeletally thin. But Erik did not really care. _What is there to live for now?_ he would think from time to time.

Tearing his eyes from the violin, Erik reached into the pocket in the violin case and withdrew a crumpled sheet of paper. He unfolded it carefully; it was almost tearing along the creases from being read so many times over the past few months. It had been almost a whole year since the 'incident' with Antoinette, as he referred to it when torturing himself with the memory. One day he had poled the gondola across the lake to retrieve the bell and found an envelope there with one word on it - "Erik". The next day, Antoinette had left the Opera Populaire.

_'Dear Erik_,' it read.

_'I don't really know how to say this - but I have to leave. It is not you, by any means. I wish you well. Erik, please excuse my bluntness, but there is no other way for me to say this and I would so hate to torture you by drawing it out. Lucas and I are engaged. I hope you do not find this offensive in any way; I beg you shed no tear for this._

_'We are leaving together not to be married, but simply to spend some time away from the opera house. I will never be a prima ballerina, and I am happier for it. I intend to apply for the post of ballet mistress when I am eligible, instead. Nevertheless, I will return within a month or two. You are in my thoughts and prayers and always will be. Please know this, Erik._

_'I am so sorry that I cannot give you the love you deserve. I am sure that one day you will find somebody who can - an angel who will see your beautiful soul and appreciate your art. But Erik, when I return to the Opera Populaire, I will watch out for you. If nobody else takes you seriously, I will. I promise you that what you have to say will be heard. Erik - I love you like a dear brother. Remember me - I will always remember you._

_'With all affection, Antoinette'_

Biting his lip, Erik refolded the letter, his bony hands carefully ensuring that no harm came to it. He wanted to believe what Antoinette had written more than anything - that he could learn to love another. Erik could not see how, though. He stood and moved over to the pipe organ where pages and pages of manuscript lay, all covered with pieces composed for Antoinette. Pieces that nobody would ever hear. Steeling himself, Erik took the sheath of papers and moved into his neglected kitchen where a few glowingembers remained in the grate. One by one, he dropped each composition over them, thesparks turning to hungry flames, licking greedily as they devoured the manuscripts.He felt no remorse; he wanted to be free of any reminder of Antoinette.

Rid of months of compositions, Erik took a seat at the organ again, pulling out a blank manuscript and writing material. His hands hovered over the keys for a few seconds before they fell into place. Everything Erik felt - all the anger, hate, sorrow and guilt - he played until his hands grew numb and his arms ached. Erik looked over what he had feverishlywritten, critiquing it in his mind. It was very different to anything else he had heard of composed before. It was darker, imbibed with passion, anger and deceit. Erik took his quill and, dipping it into the last of the red ink wrote a title across the top of the page with a flourish - _Don Juan Triumphant_.

And in the years to come, some would claim to hear an organ played angrily through the silence of the night.

_Author's note: I know it's short - sorry. For some reason it took me aages to write ...This is the last chapter, but it is NOT the end. Epilogue to come ... :mysterious music: But for now ... reviwer replies!_

_**Baby-Vixen**, that's a cool idea but unfortunately, I couldn't manage to fit it in. But thanks all the same - it was something I'd never really thought about ..._

_**Midnight Princess**, but of course! Erik's not Erik without a healthy does of insanity ;)_

_**Minerva's Phantom**, well, I suppose that's alright, then ;)_

_**HPROXMYSOX**, why don't we all say it together - one, two three! Poor Erik! And yeah, I try my best to stay realistic - thanks for noticing :)_

_**Forensic Photographer711**, he just can't win, eh?_

_**Olethros**, thank you! Quite frankly, I always find backstories more interesting than future-stories._

_**to lazy to log in**, (I can relate!) thanks a bunch! I'm flattered and I'd be interested to read the 'phanphanphic' ;)_

_**Gracie**, well ... :pokes chapter: And I can, too._

_**I Love Gerry**, sorry but nada on the E/M front ... but I think you figured that out by now ;) And thanks for pointing that out - I suppose I meant it as meaning 'involving little expense' ... well, that's what my dictionary said, anyway. Considering I mostly write late at night my brain probably wasn't taking in too much ..._

_**Laura Kay**:nods: Okay:got cracking updating as one can see:_

_**Flagger**, I think that you're the second person who claims that if I don't update you will go insane and/or require counselling. Well, we wouldn't want that now, would we:is confused as to whether being responsible for someone's mental health is a good thing:_


	11. Epilogue

White Roses

_Disclaimer: Whoot! This is the last time I have to do this :happy dance: Although the contents are rather melancholy ... I don't own POTO. I had you all fooled, didn't I? (coughcoughSARCASMcoughcough)_

**Epilogue**

Erik lurked behind the false wall in the opera's chapel. After so many years of solitude, he had resumed haunting the opera house, finding scornful amusement in frightening the ballet girls and sending threatening notes to Monsieur Lefèvre - the new manager of the Opera Populaire. Anything to fuel rumours supporting the existence of the Opera Ghost. Anything to remind Antoinette that he continued to live.

He still loved her - but only as a sister. Admittedly, he sometimes wondered if he ever truly had had romantic feelings for her; perhaps they were simply figments of his imagination - perhaps being deprived of kindness caused one to mistake it for affection? Perhaps ... Her husband had since passed on - an unfortunate victim of consumption - a fact that surprisingly had had little effect on Erik's emotions. _Lucas Giry was a good man,_ he had grudgingly acknowledged, but Erik was not one to forgive and forget, and he still found it quite impossible to shift the grudge against him. It was painful to see him live on in their small daughter, Meg. Although the child outwardly resembled her mother, her nature was identical to that of her father. Erik had often watched young Meg Giry dance; like her mother, she was a talented ballerina.

He was about to return to his lair in the catacombs when he heard the sound of faint footsteps. Curious, he remained, waiting to see which of the ballet rats was sneaking around at night. _An accidental sighting of the Opera Ghost should give them their week's worth of gossip._ Eventually, the door to the chapel groaned as it was pushed open and Erik craned his neck to observe the newcomer. It was a new girl - probably about Meg's age. She nervously twisted a strand of curly sepia hair around her finger, her dark eyes wide. He watched with interest as the child walked hesitantly into the room and slowly lit one of the many candles.

"Papa," he heard her whisper, "Papa!"

So she, too, had been robbed of her father. Erik was about to leave; he had no interest in watching this girl mourn. However, as he turned to go, he heard her speak again.

"Little Lotte let her mind wander," she murmured, tears flowing down her pale cheeks. "Little Lotte thought: am I fonder of dolls or of goblins? Of shoes or of riddles or frocks? Or of chocolates? No, what I love best, Lotte said, is when I'm asleep in my bed ..."

Here she broke off, hiccoughing a little before singing the next part under her breath.

"... and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head ... the Angel of Music sings songs in my head ..."

Erik's eyes widened. The girl - young though she was - had promise. Even through her tears, her voice had moved him. It was so sweet, so innocent ... _An Angel of Music?_ he thought. But before he could consider this any more, the girl went on.

"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing ... Her father promised her he would send her the Angel of Music ... her father promised her ..."

Erik felt a strange sort of empathy for the child. He knew what it felt like when it seemed that all the ones you loved were cruelly snatched from you ... Wanting to comfort her, almost without thinking, he sang out, softly, echoing her.

"The Angel of Music sings songs in your head ..."

The girl's head snapped upwards, her eyes now shining with unspilled tears.

"Angel?"

x-x-x-x

As the years went by, the girl continued to return to the chapel religiously by night and rehearse with the ballet girls by day. Each night, Erik would wait for her and call out to her in song. He learned her name - Christine Daaé. _Such a pretty name, _he always thought. Gradually, Christine learned to trust him and responded to his calls. She called him her Angel.

More years went by and Christine began to mature. Although a talented dancer, Erik couldn't help but believe that she was born to be a prima donna and sing the great operas. He found himself yearning for her when he was alone - it was as if he needed her with him. The girl held a strange, hypnotic power over his heart ... and Erik could not help but to succumb to it. Finally, he admitted to himself what had happened - the Opera Ghost was in love.

But Erik was not one to make a mistake twice. He was not about to have another man steal away his love's heart and watch in agony as she blatantly turned from him. No - Erik would make sure that would not happen again. A rejection from Christine would be the one rejection he could not take.

_Christine will love me, _he told himself.

_No matter what happens - I will not let her go ..._

* * *

_Interesting random piece of trivia: This was the very first chapter I wrote of this story. It was supposed to be a one-shot with suggested Erik/Madame Giry, but then my friend got hold of it and told me to develop it further. Kudos to her!_

_Author's note: And it ends. Really. And now ... the final lot of reviewer replies! You guys - you rock. Your support made writing this a real pleasure.:throws cookies to all reviewers:So ..._

_**Greatest**, you said it ;)_

_**Erik's Music Of The Night**, perhaps you and I should team up on a pretty-boy-killing spree? Or make a club? We could have badegs ;)_

_**the forgotten fate**, aw, thanks, hun! Glad you found that little bit funny ;)_

_**Incapability**, thank you! Well, I don't know about the ballet mistress bit, but like you said - she would have connections ;) And strange, I think you were actually the first person to point that out!_

_**lil-rebel-chick**, thank you so much!_

_**meghankatherine**, that's not good for my ego, you know ;) High praise:blushes: And, wow - another person whose mental health could have potentially rested with me ... scary._

_**Gracie**, life is unfair, is it not? I can never understand why the women Erik likes always reject him, quite frankly ;)_

_**Baby-Vixen**, oh, don't worry - I'm still writing :pokes author's note below:_

_**VM**, you read my mind! I'm freaked out._

_Author's note again: Am considering writing a sequel. No - am definitely writing a sequel. After the 'Christine incident'. Keep a look-out for it ;)_


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